' 


APPLETONS'  NEW  HANDY-VOLUME  SERIES. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 


PHILOSOPHER   AND   POET. 


BY 

ALFRED   H.   GUERNSEY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THOMAS  CARLYLE— HIS  LIFE,  HIS  BOOKS,  HIS  THEORIES. 


NEW  YORK: 

D      APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1,  3,  AND  5  BOND  STEEET. 

1881. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 

1881. 


CONTENTS. 


\_Citationsfrom  Emerson  are  designated  by  Italics.} 

I.  INTRODUCTORY  . .  ,  Q  ,  H 

T                                                         J.o-17 

Herman  Grimm  upon  Emerson 13 

Emerson's  Place  in  Literature .'  '  15 

II.  EARLY  DAYS 17  27 

Emerson's  Birth  and  Parentage 17 

His  Father  and  Brothers '    lg 

Edward  Bliss  Emerson '  19 

In  Memoriam  E.  B.  E. *   19 

Charles  Emerson '  20 

His  Note-Book  of  a  Scholar '  '  21 

The  Unity  of  Humanity 21 

Individuality '   22 

Self  and  Society '  23 

Emerson's  Student  Life '  24 

His  College  Career '  25 

Enters  the  Ministry  and  marries 27 

III.  IN  THE  MINISTRY.  . . 


Doubts  respecting  the  Lord's  Supper 28 

Resigns  the  Pastorate '  '  29 

His  Farewell  Sermon '  29 

Scriptural  Authority  as  to  the  Supper '  *  31 

Temporary  Design  of  the  Rite . ,  '  32 

The  Authority •  of  St.  Paul  questioned.  ......      . .  .  .   33 

JSmwsorfs  Objections  to  the  Rite <M 


4  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

An  Appropriate  Commemoration 36 

The  Final  Resolve 37 

Farewell  Letter  to  his  Congregation 38 

IV.  VISITS  TO  EUROPE 40-68 

In  Italy 40 

Horatio  Greenough 41 

Walter  Savage  Landor 42 

In  England  and  Scotland 44 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 45 

William  Wordsworth 49 

Later  Meeting  with  Wordsworth 51 

Wordsworth's  Genius 53 

Thomas  Carlyle  in  1833 53 

Carlyle  at  Craig enputtoch 55 

Emerson  and  Carlyle 58 

Emerson  upon  u  Sartor  Resartus  " 59 

Carlyle  and  Emerson  in  1848   60 

Their  Summer  Excursion 61 

Talk  on  the  Road 63 

The  Visit  to  Stonehenge 64 

Emerson's  Last  Visit  to  Europe 68 

V.  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 69-84 

Courses  of  Lectures 69 

The"Dial» 70 

Theodore  Parker  upon  Emerson 71 

Emerson's  Divinity  College  Address 72 

The  Position  of  Emerson 73 

TJie  Sentiment  of  Virtue 74 

Atheism  and  Pantheism 75 

The  One  Supreme  Being 76 

Tlie  Man  Jesus 77 

TJie  Office  of  the  Preacher 78 

Formality  in  Preaching 79 

Decay  of  Faith 81 


CONTENTS.  5 

PAGE 

The  Coming  Church 82 

The  Sabbath  and  Preaching 82 

Tlie  Coming  Teacher 83 

Unrealized  Anticipations 83 

VI.  CRITICAL  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL 85-99 

Oral  and  Written  Discourse 85 

Whipple  upon  Emerson 88 

Frothingham  upon  Emerson 90 

Emerson  upon  History 94 

Emerson's  Reading  and  Study 95 

Scope  of  his  Philosophy * 96 

Emerson's  Bibliography 97 

VII.  NATURE 99-164 

Characteristics  of  the  Book 99 

The  End  of  Nature 100 

Too  Broad  Generalization 101 

Balancing  the  Past  and  the  Present 103 

Decadent  Ages 105 

What  Nature  is 107 

Theories  and  Phenomena 107 

The  Stars 108 

What  we  see  in  Nature 109 

Delight  in  Nature Ill 

Nature  and  our  Moods 112 

Various  Uses  of  Nature 113 

Commodity 113 

Beauty 115 

Beauty  for  Itself 116 

The  Spiritual  Aspects  of  Beauty 117 

The  Beauty  of  Noble  Acts 118 

Beauty  in  Association 118 

Intellectual  Beauty 119 

Beauty  and  Art 119 

Beauty  not  the  Ultimate  End, 120 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Uses  and  Growth  of  Language 121 

Natural  Symbolism 122 

Facts  as  Typical 122 

Verity  in  Language 1 24 

Words  and  Tilings 125 

Nature  and  the  Orator , 126 

The  Dignity  of  Language 126 

Particular  Meanings 127 

The  Mystery  of  the  Universe 128 

The  Law  of  the  Universe 128 

The  Sphinx  Riddle 129 

The  Unity  of  all  Things 130 

Old  Thoughts  made  New  Thoughts 131 

Discipline 132 

Discipline  of  the  Understanding 133 

Discipline  by  Property 133 

Discipline  by  Differences 134 

Discipline  of  tlie  Witt 134 

Discipline  of  the  Reason 135 

Unity  in  Variety 136 

Illustrative  Examples 136 

Unity  of  Thought  and  Action 137 

Idealism  and  Realism 138 

Reality  or  Unreality  of  Nature 139 

The  Idealism  of  Buddha 140 

Emerson's  Idealism 141 

Subjective  Idealism  141 

Defense  of  Idealism 142 

The  Observer  and  the  Spectacle 143 

The  Ideal  in  Poetry 144 

The  Ideal  in  Philosophy 145 

The  Ideal  in  Religion  and  Ethics 146 

Apparent  Inconsistencies 148 

Insufficiency  of  Idealism 149 

Nature  and  Spirit 150 


CONTENTS. 


What  Spirit  is 151 

The  Human  Soul  and  the  Divine  Spirit 152 

Immortality 153 

The  Natural  Argument  for  Immortality 154 

Personal  Immortality 155 

Analysis  of  Emerson's  Argument 156 

Its  Inconclusiveness 158 

Emerson's  Mental  Processes 159 

Prospects 160 

Solution  of  the  Sphinx  Problem 161 

The  Conclusion 163 

VIII.  THE  ESSAYS 164-204 

Characteristics  of  the  Work 164 

Nomadism 165 

Intellectual  Nomadism 166 

TJie  Charm  of  Greek  History 167 

The  Charm  of  Greek  Literature  and  Art 168 

How  History  should  be  read  and  written 169 

Consistencies  and  Inconsistencies 171 

Consistency 171 

Truths  and  Half-Truths ' 172 

Self-Reliance 174 

Self-Reliance  and  Prayer 175 

false  Prayers 176 

Traveling  and  Imitation 177 

Hints  and  Limitations 178 

On  Compensation 179 

Emerson's  View  examined 181 

Compensation  and  Spiritual  Laws 183 

Is  Friendship  Immortal  ? 185 

Real  Friendships 186 

Truth  in  Friendship 187 

Tenderness  in  Friendship 187 

Conversation  in  Friendship 188 

After-thoughts  on  Friendship 189 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

On  Prudence 190 

Prudence—  Wliat  and  Why  it  is 190 

Base  and  Spurious  Prudence 193 

Prudence  and  Courage 193 

Prudence  and  Love 194 

Prudent  Compliances 195 

Limitations  to  these  Views 195 

The  Ultimate  of  Prudence 197 

Experience 198 

The  World  to  the  Scholar 198 

Net  Result  of  Present  Experience 199 

Final  Victory 201 

The  Lords  of  Life 202 

The  Book  and  the  Essay  on  "  Nature  " 202 

The  Mystery  of  Nature 203 

Altered  Modes  of  Thought 203 

Second  Visit  to  England 204 

IX.  ENGLISH  TRAITS 204-248 

Motives  for  the  Journey 204 

Characteristics  of  the  Book 205 

Physical  England. 206 

Commercial  Advantages 208 

The  Past  and  the  Future 208 

Tlie  English  Race 209 

Races  in  History 209 

Mixtures  in  the  English  Race 210 

The  Norsemen 211 

The  Normans 212 

The  Typical  Englishman 212 

Bodily  Traits  of  the  English 213 

English  Love  of  Utility 214 

Artificiality  of  English  Institutions 214 

English  Pluck 216 

Variant  Representations 216 

English  Domesticity 217 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE 

A  Partial  View 219 

English  Truthfulness 218 

French  versus  English 219 

English  Gravity 220 

Various  Types  of  one  Character 221 

English  Whimsicality 222 

Mr.  Cockayne 222 

English  Self-conceit 223 

English  Braggadocio 224 

Some  Extenuations 225 

English  Narrowness 225 

England  and  the  World 226 

English  Homage  to  Wealth 226 

Values  of  Wealth 227 

The  best  Results  of  English  Wealth 228 

The  Reverse  Side  of  the  Medal 228 

Wealth  and  the  English  People 229 

Responsibilities  of  Wealth 230 

The  Aristocracy 231 

English  Primogeniture 231 

Bond  between  Commoners  and  Nobles 232 

Changes  in  the  Nobility 232 

Ttie  Old  War-Lords 233 

The  Modern  Peace-Lords 234 

The  Rise  of  the  Russells 235 

Uses  of  an  Aristocracy 236 

Manners  of  the  Peerage. 236 

The  Nobles  and  the  Commoners 237 

The  Unfitted  Nobility 238 

The  Peerage 239 

The  Status  of  Peers 239 

The  Established  Church 240 

Development  of  the  Anglican  Church 241 

The  Old  Church  and  the  People 241 

The  Church  and  Loyalty 242 


10  CONTENTS. 


Ages  of  Faith 242 

The  Present  Anglican  Church 243 

A  Church  of  Manners 243 

The  Church  of  the  Rich 244 

Hasty  Generalizations 244 

The  Decay  of  Worship 245 

English  Results 246 

The  Manchester  Address 246 

Hail  and  Farewell  to  England. 247 

X.  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 248-278 

Uses  of  Great  Men 249 

Who  is  the  Great  Man  ? 250 

Classes  of  Great  Men 250 

Ultimate  Use  of  Great  Men 251 

Supremacy  of  Plato 252 

Originality  of  Plato 253 

Universality  of  Plato 254 

Plato's  Eclecticism 254 

Plato's  Central  Doctrine 255 

Defects  in  Plato 256 

Plato  summed  up 258 

Swedenborg  the  Mystic 258 

On  Mysticism 259 

Emanuel  Swedenborg 260 

The  Genius  of  Swedenborg 262 

His  Universality  and  Unity 262 

Some  of  his  Teachings 263 

The  Philosophy  of  the  Infinite 264 

Defects  in  Swedenborg' s  Philosophy 255 

Heaven  and  Hell 266 

Swedenborg's  Revelations 267 

Final  Estimate  of  Swedenborg 268 

Montaigne,  the  Skeptic 269 

Montaigne's  Essays 271 

Montaigne's  Doionriqhtneas 271 


CONTENTS.  11 

PAGE 

Montaigne's  Characteristics 272 

Belief  and  Skepticism 273 

Levity  of  Intellect 275 

TJie  Power  of  Moods 275 

Fate  or  Destiny 276 

lllusionism 277 

Montaigne  and  Emerson 277 

XI.  THE  CONDUCT  or  LIFE 279-285 

Fate 279 

Power 280 

Wealth 280 

Behavior 281 

Worship 281 

Illusions 282 

Illusions  themselves  illusionary 284 

XII.  SOCIETY  AND  SOLITUDE 285-290 

Scope  of  the  Work 285 

Accomplished  Purposes 286 

John  Adams  at  Ninety 288 

.       Old  Age  after  a  Well-spent  Life 290 

XIII.  LETTERS  AND  SOCIAL  AIMS 291 

Scope  of  the  Work 291 

Poetry 291 

Melody  and  Form 293 

Rhyme  and  Rhythm 293-300 

Metre 293 

Prose-poems 294 

Greatness •„ 295 

Kinds  of  Greatness 296 

Self -Respect 296 

The  Paths  to  Real  Greatness 297 

Scintillations  of  Greatness 298 

Rarity  of  Pure  Greatness .  298 


12  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Greatness  of  mere  Force 299 

TJie  Ultimate  Greatness 299 

XIV.  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  EMERSON 300 

The  Infinite  and  the  Finite 300 

Concord  in  Contradiction 301 

The  Supremacy  of  Mind 301 

Mathematical  Laws 302 

Moral  Laws 303 

The  Laws  of  Nature 304 

Emerson's  One  Law 307 

Kesults  of  Emerson's  Teachings 308 

XV.  EMERSON  AS  A  POET 308 

Brdhma 309 

Philosophy  of  the  Poem 309 

Emerson's  Verse 311 

TJie  Adirondack 312 

May-Day 314 

The  Snow-Storm 317 

To  Eva.... 318 

TJirenody 319 

The  Concord  Hymn 322 

TJie  Mountain  and  the  Squirrel 323 

Quatrains 324 

TJie  Past 325 

The  Song  of  Nature 325 

Conclusion. . .  .   327 


EMERSON. 


i. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

ABOUT  twenty-five  years  ago  Herman  Grimm, 
a  clever  German  writer,  happened  to  be  in  the 
apartments  of  an  American  friend  then  sojourn 
ing  in  Germany.  Upon  the  table  lay  a  thin  vol 
ume  entitled  "Essays  by  E.  W.  Emerson."  He 
glanced  hastily  over  the  leaves,  but  could  make 
nothing  out  of  their  contents,  and  declared  that 
they  seemed  to  him  to  be  sheer  nonsense.  His 
friend  assured  him  that  this  was  by  no  means 
the  judgment  of  competent  persons  in  America, 
where  Emerson  had  come  to  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  foremost  thinkers  of  the  age — a  man  whose 
utterances  were  worthy  of  all  attention,  and,  even 
when  they  seemed  to  be  obscure,  of  careful  study 
and  meditation. 

Thus  admonished,  Grimm  took  up  the  book 


again,  read  a  little  further,  until  flashes  of  light 
shone  through  the  mist.  He  borrowed  the  book, 
took  it  home,  and  read  still  further  ;  then  bought 
a  copy,  and  set  about  the  serious  perusal  of  it. 
He  found  it  no  light  labor.  He  had  thought 
that  he  was  well  up  in  the  vocabulary  and  gram 
mar  of  the  English  tongue  ;  but  he  here  found 
himself  much  at  fault.  He  says  that  he  was  con 
tinuously  embarrassed  by  the  use  of  words  new 
to  him,  or  used  in  new  meanings  ;  by  the  extraor 
dinary  construction  of  the  sentences;  by  the 
apparent  absence  of  logical  continuity,  and  the 
unexpected  turns  of  thought,  which  met  him 
everywhere.  He  was  obliged  to  blast  his  way 
through  the  Essays  by  the  aid  of  the  dictionary. 

We,  to  whom  the  language  of  Emerson  is  ver 
nacular,  can  not  well  understand  the  kind  of 
difficulty  which  the  German  found  in  compre 
hending  him.  Earely  do  we  find  a  word  whose 
usual  meaning  we  do  not  know,  or  which  is  used 
in  an  unusual  sense.  The  sentences  themselves 
are  usually  constructed  in  the  simplest  and  most 
direct  manner,  going  straight  on  from  beginning 
to  end,  with  rarely  any  involution  or  parenthet 
ical  clause.  If  the  ordinary  English  reader  finds 
any  difficulty  in  getting  at  the  meaning,  it  arises 
from  the  nature  of  the  thought,  not  from  the 
phrases  in  which  it  is  expressed.  The  obscurity 
rests  rather  in  the  reader  than  in  the  writer. 
Grimm,  having  at  last  mastered  the  meaning  of 


INTRODUCTORY.  15 

Emerson,  wrote  an  elaborate  essay  upon  him, 
which  was  published  in  1861,  and  republished  a 
dozen  years  later,  with  additions  and  confirma 
tions.  He  had,  in  the  mean  time,  read  and  re 
read  the  book ;  and  now  he  says,  "Every  time  I 
take  it  up,  I  seem  to  take  it  up  for  the  first  time." 
He  continues  thus  : 

GRIMM   UPON  EMERSON. 

"  As  I  read,  all  seems  old  and  familiar,  as  if  it  was 
my  old  well-worn  thought ;  all  seems  new,  as  if  it  had 
never  occurred  to  me  before.  I  found  myself  depending 
on  the  book,  and  was  provoked  with  myself  for  it.  How 
could  I  be  so  captured  and  enthralled,  so  fascinated  and 
bewildered  ?  The  writer  was  but  a  man  like  any  other ; 
yet,  upon  taking  up  the  volume  again,  the  spell  was  re 
newed.  I  felt  the  pure  air — the  old  weather-beaten  mo 
tives  recovered  their  tone.  .  .  .  Emerson  regards  the 
world  with  a  fresh  vision.  The  thing  done  or  occurring 
before  him  opens  the  way  to  serene  heights.  The  living 
have  precedence  of  the  dead  ;  even  the  living  of  to-day 
of  the  Greeks  of  yesterday,  nobly  as  the  latter  molded, 
chiseled,  sang.  For  me  was  the  breath  of  life;  for 
me  the  rapture  of  spring ;  for  me  love  and  desire  ;  for 
me  the  secret  of  wisdom  and  power. 

"Emerson  fills  me  with  courage  and  confidence.  He 
has  read  and  observed,  but  he  betrays  no  signs  'of  toil. 
He  presents  familiar  facts,  but  he  presents  them  in  new 
lights  and  combinations.  From  every  object  the  lines 
of  light  run  straight  out,  connecting  it  with  the  central 
point  of  life.  What  I  had  hardly  dared  to  think— it  was 
so  bold — he  brings  forth  as  quietly  as  if  it  was  the  most 


16  EMERSON. 

familiar  commonplace.  He  is  a  perfect  swimmer  on  the 
ocean  of  modern  existence.  He  dreads  no  tempest,  for 
he  is  sure  that  calm  will  follow  it.  He  does  not  hate, 
contradict,  or  dispute ;  for  he  understands  men  and 
loves  them.  I  look  on  with  wonder  to  see  how  the 
hurly-burly  of  modern  life  subsides,  and  the  elements 
gently  betake  themselves  to  their  allotted  places.  Had 
I  found  but  a  single  passage  in  his  writings  that  was  an 
exception  to  this  rule,  I  should  begin  to  suspect  my  judg 
ment,  and  should  say  no  further  word.  But  long  ac 
quaintance  confirms  my  opinion.  As  I  think  of  this  man, 
I  have  understood  the  devotion  of  his  pupils,  who  would 
share  any  fate  with  their  master,  because  his  genius 
banished  doubt,  and  imparted  life  to  all  things." 

Something  like  this  has  been  the  experience 
of  nearly  all  of  that  slowly  expanding  but  now 
wide  circle  who  look  up  to  Emerson  as  a  master 
and  guide.  Few  of  them  have  come  so  to  regard 
him  from  their  own  immediate  intuition  or  per 
ception.  Most  of  them  have  read  and  studied 
him,  because  some  one  in  whose  judgment  they 
had  learned  to  confide  had  assured  them  that  he 
was  worth  the  reading  or  study.  They  have 
gradually  grown  up  to  Emerson,  but  have  not 
outgrown  him  any  more  than  they  have  outgrown 
the  bards  and  prophets  of  the  Old  Testament  or 
the  Gospels  and  Epistles  of  the  New  Testament ; 
Homer,  and  ^Eschylus,  and  Plato  ;  Dante,  and 
Shakespeare,  and  Milton.  It  is  not  well  to  speak 
with  perfect  confidence  of  the  place  which  any 
man  of  our  own  age  will  hold  in  the  judgment  of 


EARLY  DAYS.  17 

after-ages.  Yet  we  think  that  it  will  be  long  be 
fore  the  works  of  Emerson  will  die  out  from  the 
record  of  human  thought.  Books  of  his,  a  thou 
sand  years  hence,  will  stand  on  the  same  shelf 
with  those  of  Plato,  even  though  the  English 
language,  like  the  Greek,  should  have  become 
what  we  foolishly  call  a  dead  tongue.  We  pro 
pose,  in  such  brief  space  as  is  allotted  to  us,  to 
present  some  estimate  of  the  man  and  of  his  works. 


II. 

EARLY   DAYS. 

EALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  was  born  in  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  May  25,  1803.  He  sprang  on  both 
sides  from  clerical  stock.  For  eight  generations 
there  had  been  no  time  when  one  or  more  of  his 
forefathers,  on  the  paternal  or  maternal  side,  was 
not  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  Joseph  Emerson 
was  pastor  at  Maiden  a  century  and  a  half  ago. 
His  son,  William,  died  as  chaplain  in  the  army  of 
the  Revolution.  His  son,  likewise  named  Wil 
liam,  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1789,  and  ten  years 
after  became  pastor  of  the  First  (Unitarian) 
Church  in  Boston.  He  was  a  noted  pulpit  orator, 
and  several  of  his  sermons  were  printed.  He  put 
2 


18  EMERSON. 

forth  a  "Selection  of  Psalms  and  Hymns,"  and 
wrote  a  "History  of  the  First  Church  of  Boston," 
which  was  published  soon  after  his  death.  He 
died  in  1811,  in  the  forty-second  year  of  his  age, 
leaving  a  widow,  a  daughter,  and  four  sons,  of 
whom  Ralph  was  the  second. 

It  is  worth  while  to  trace  something  of  the 
ancestral  type,  which  was  strongly  impressed  upon 
each  of  these  four  brothers.  William,  the  eldest, 
graduated  at  Harvard  in  1820,  and  soon  after 
established  a  nourishing  school  for  girls  in  Boston. 
Of  him  we  are  told  that  "although  lacking  the 
genius  of  the  others,  he  was  a  natural  idealist,  a 
man  whom  it  was  a  privilege  to  know." 

Edward,  the  third  brother,  gave  early  promise 
of  the  rarest  qualities.  In  1832  he  sailed  for 
Porto  Eico,  where  he  died  not  long  after.  While 
the  ship  was  sailing  out  of  Boston  Harbor,  he 
wrote  a  tender  farewell  poem,  which  was  pub 
lished  after  his  death  in  "The  Dial,"  of  which 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  then  editor.  Emer 
son  gives  this  farewell  a  place  in  his  own  latest 
volume  of  poems,  adding  thereto  some  memorial 
verses  to  this  "brother  of  the  brief  but  blazing 
star ;  born  for  the  noblest  life  ;  the  loving  cham 
pion  of  the  right ;  who  never  wronged  the  poorest 
that  drew  breath. "  This  memorial  poem  is  among 
the  best  of  its  kind  in  our  language,  and  is  so 
characteristic  of  the  author  that  portions  of  it 
may  here  find  fitting  place  : 


EARLY  DAYS.  19 


"  IN  MEMOEIAM  E.  B.  E. 

"  All  inborn  power  that  could 
Consist  with  homage  to  the  good, 

Flamed  from  his  martial  eye. 
He,  who  seemed  a  soldier  born, 
He  should  have  the  helmet  worn, 

All  friends  to  fend,  all  foes  defy. 

Fronting  the  foes  of  God  and  man, 
Frowning  down  the  evil-doer, 
Battling  for  the  weak  and  poor, 

His  from  youth  the  leader's  look, 

Gave  the  law  which  others  took, 
And  never  poor  beseeching  glance 
Shamed  that  sculptured  countenance.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  no  record  left  on  earth, 

Save  in  tablets  of  the  heart, 
Of  the  rich  inherent  worth, 

Of  the  grace  that  on  him  shone 
Of  eloquent  lips  and  joyful  wit. 
He  could  not  frame  a  word  unfit, 

An  act  unworthy  to  be  done. 
Honor  prompted  every  glance, 
Honor  came  and  sat  beside  him, 

In  lowly  cot  or  painful  road, 

And  evermore  the  cruel  god 
Cried  '  Onward !  '  and  the  palm-branch  showed. 

Born  for  success  he  seemed, 
"With  grace  to  win,  with  heart  to  hold, 
With  shining  gifts  that  took  all  eyes, 
With  budding  power  in  college  halls 


20  EMERSON. 

As  pledged  in  coming  days  to  forge 
"Weapons  to  guard  the  State,  or  scourge 
Tyrants  despite  their  guards  or  walls. 
On  his  young  promise  Beauty  smiled, 
Drew  his  free  homage  unbeguiled, 
And  prosperous  Age  held  out  the  hand, 
And  richly  his  large  future  planned  ; 
And  troops  of  friends  enjoyed  the  tide : — 
All,  all,  was  given,  and  only  health  denied.  .  .  . 

"  Fell  the  bolt  on  the  branching  oak, 
The  rainbow  of  his  life  was  broke  ; 
No  craven  cry,  no  secret  tear : 
He  told  no  pang,  he  knew  no  fear ; 
Its  peace  sublime  his  features  kept ; 
His  purpose  woke,  his  features  slept ; 
And  yet  between  the  spasms  of  paiii 
His  genius  beamed  with  joy  again. 

"  O'er  thy  rich  dust  the  endless  smile 
Of  Nature  in  thy  Spanish  isle 
Hints  never  loss  or  cruel  break, 
And  sacrifice  for  love's  dear  sake ; 
Nor  mourn  the  unalterable  days 
That  Genius  goes  and  Folly  stays. 
"What  matters  how  or  from  what  ground, 
The  freed  soul  its  Creator  found  ? 
Alike  thy  memory  embalms 
That  orange-grove,  that  isle  of  palms, 
And  these  loved  banks  whose  oak-boughs  bold 
Root  in  the  blood  of  heroes  old." 

Of  Charles  Emerson,  the  youngest  of  the  four 
brothers,  who  died  early,  we  are  told  that  "  he 


EARLY  DAYS.  21 

combined  the  genius  and  saintliness  of  the  others." 
"The  Dial"  contains  some  papers  written  by 
him  entitled  :  "Notes  from  the  Note-Book  of  a 
Scholar,"  which  one  might  suppose  to  be  written 
by  Ealph  Waldo  Emerson.  This  for  example  : 

THE   UNITY    OF    HUMANITY. 

"  This  afternoon  we  read  Shakspeare.  The  verse  so 
sank  into  me  that  as  I  toiled  my  way  home  under  the 
cloud  of  night,  with  the  gusty  music  of  the  storm  around 
and  overhead,  I  doubted  that  it  was  all  a  remembered 
scene ;  that  humanity  was  indeed  one — a  spirit  continu 
ally  reproduced,  accomplishing  a  vast  orbit  whilst  indi 
vidual  men  are  but  the  points  through  which  it  passes. 

"  We  each  furnish  to  the  angel  who  stands  in  the  sun 
a  single  observation.  The  reason  why  Homer  is  to  me 
like  the  dewy  morning  is  because  I  too  lived  while  Troy 
was,  and  sailed  in  the  hollow  ships  to  sack  the  devoted 
town.  The  rosy-fingered  dawn,  as  it  crimsoned  the  tops 
of  Ida,  the  broad  sea-shore  covered  with  tents,  the  Tro 
jan  hosts  in  their  painted  armor,  and  the  rushing  char 
iots  of  Diomed  and  Idomeneus — all  these  too  I  saw. 
My  ghost  animated  the  form  of  some  ancient  Argive. 

"And  Shakspeare,  in  'King  John,' does  but  recall  to 
me  myself  in  the  dress  of  another  age,  the  sport  of  new 
accidents.  I  who  am  Charles  was  sometime  Romeo.  In 
Hamlet  I  pondered  and  doubted.  We  forget  what  we 
have  been,  drugged  by  the  sleepy  bowl  of  the  Present. 
But  when  a  lively  chord  in  the  soul  is  struck,  when  the 
windows  for  a  moment  are  unbarred,  the  long  and  varied 
Past  is  recovered.  We  recognize  it  all ;  we  are  no  brief 
ignoble  creatures ;  we  seize  our  immortality,  and  bind 
together  the  related  parts  of  our  being." 


22  EMERSON. 

Or  again  this,  which  reads  like  a  page  dropped 
out  of  Emerson's  Essays  : 


INDIVIDUALITY. 

"  Let  us  not  vail  our  bonnets  to  circumstances.  If 
we  act  so  because  we  are  so — if  we  sin  from  strong  bias 
of  temper  and  constitution — at  least  we  have  in  our 
selves  the  measure  and  the  curb  of  our  aberration.  But 
if  they  who  are  around  us  sway  us ;  if  we  think  ourselves 
incapable  of  resisting  the  cords  by  which  fathers  and 
mothers  and  a  host  of  unsuitable  expectations  and  duties, 
falsely  so  called,  seek  to  bind  us — into  what  helpless  dis 
cord  shall  we  not  fall.  Do  you  remember,  in  the  '  Ara 
bian  Nights,'  the  princes  who  climbed  the  hill  to  bring 
away  the  singing-tree — how  the  black  pebbles  clamored, 
and  the  princes  looked  round,  and  became  black  pebbles 
themselves  ? 

"  I  hate  whatever  is  imitative  in  states  of  mind  as 
well  as  in  action.  The  moment  I  say  to  myself,  '  I  ought 
to  feel  thus  and  so,'  life  loses  its  sweetness,  the  soul  her 
vigor  and  truth.  I  can  only  recover  my  genuine  self  by 
stopping  short,  refraining  from  every  effort  to  shape  my 
thought  after  a  form,  and  giving  it  boundless  freedom 
and  horizon.  Then  after  the  oscillation,  more  or  less 
protracted  as  the  mind  has  been  more  or  less  forcibly 
pushed  from  its  place,  I  fall  again  into  my  orbit  and 
recognize  myself,  and  find  with  gratitude  that  something 
there  is  in  the  spirit  which  changes  not  neither  is  weary ; 
but  ever  returns  into  itself,  and  partakes  of  the  eternity 
of  God.  Do  not  let  persons  and  things  come  too  near 
you.  They  should  be  phenomenal.  The  soul  should 
keep  the  external  world  at  a  distance.  Only  in  the 


EARLY   DAYS.  23 

character  of  messengers  charged  with  a  mission  from  the 
Everlasting  and  the  True,  should  we  receive  what  befalls 
us  or  them  who  stand  near  us." 

This,  at  first  sight,  would  seem  to  set  aside 
that  great  law  of  Duty,  that  "  stern  daughter  of 
the  voice  of  God,"  which  is,  as  Wordsworth  sings, 
in  one  of  in  his  sublimest  odes,  ' '  a  light  to  guide, 
a  rod  to  check  the  erring  and  reprove."  But 
Charles  Emerson  nowise  ignores  the  existence  of 
this  higher  law ;  nor  does  his  strong  estimate  of 
individuality  lead  him  to  make  light  of  the  obli 
gation  imposed  upon  every  man,  by  the  very  con 
stitution  of  his  nature  and  by  the  environments 
in  which  he  is  placed,  no  less  than  by  the  com 
mand  of  God,  to  fulfill  all  the  duties  of  social 
and  civil  life,  in  the  completest  manner,  but  in 
such  manner  as  he  best  can  with  the  endowments 
which  have  been  vouchsafed  to  him.  Following 
directly  after  the  foregoing  citation,  he  continues  : 

SELF   AND   SOCIETY. 

"It  is  a  miserable  smallness  of  nature  to  be  shut  up 
within  the  small  circle  of  a  few  personal  relations,  and 
to  fret  and  fume  whenever  a  claim  is  made  on  us  from 
God's  wide  world  without.  If  we  are  impatient  of  the 
dependence  of  man  upon  man,  and  grudge  to  take  hold 
of  hands  in  the  ring,  the  spirit  in  us  is  either  evil  or  in 
firm.  If  to  need  least  is  nighest  to  God,  so  also  is  it  to 
impart  most.  There  is  no  soundness  in  any  philosophy 
short  of  that  unlimited  debt.  As  there  is  no  man  but  is 


24  EMERSON. 

made  up  of  the  constitutions  of  God  and  the  creatures  of 
God,  so  there  is  no  one  who  can  reasonably  deny  himself 
to  the  calls  which  in  the  economy  of  the  world  he  was 
provided  with  the  means  of  satisfying.  The  true  check 
of  this  principle  is  to  be  found  in  another  general  law — 
that  each  is  to  serve  his  fellow-men  in  that  way  he  best 
can.  The  olive  is  not  bound  to  leave  yielding  his  fruit, 
and  go  and  reign  over  the  trees ;  neither  is  the  astron 
omer,  the  artist,  or  the  poet  to  quit  his  work  that  he  may 
do  the  errands  of  Howard,  or  second  the  efforts  of  Wil- 
berforce." 

In  this  last  citation  from  Charles  Emerson's 
"Notes"  we  find  the  sum  and  substance  of  the 
practical  philosophy  of  that  brother  of  his  with 
whom  we  have  mainly  to  do.  He  has  striven 
faithfully  to  serve  his  day  and  generation,  and 
coming  days  and  generations,  in  the  way  in  which 
best  he  could.  He  has  by  no  means  stood  aloof 
from  taking  part  in  the  stirring  questions  of  the 
time,  and,  in  regard  to  them,  has  often  taken  the 
unpopular  side,  but  always  the  right  one.  But 
his  real  life-work  has  been  that  of  a  thinker, 
dwelling  in  the  severe  realm  of  the  ideal,  and 
enunciating  almost  oracularly  thoughts  which  he 
deemed  it  for  the  good  of  men  that  they  should 
be  aware  of. 

Something  must  now  be  said  of  the  circum 
stances  and  influences  by,  through,  or  sometimes 
in  spite  of  which  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  came  to 
be  the  manner  of  man  which  he  is. 

His  father  died  when  the  boy  was  eight  years 


EARLY   DAYS.  25 

old,  and  the  care  of  the  household  fell  upon  his 
excellent  mother  and  her  devoted  daughter.  He 
was  trained  in  the  public  schools  of  Boston,  where 
he  made  good  progress,  and  was  sometimes  called 
upon  to  recite  original  poems  at  school  exhi 
bitions.  In  1817,  he  being  fourteen  years  of 
age,  he  entered  Harvard  College,  where  his  elder 
brother  had  preceded  him  two  or  three  years  be 
fore.  His  college  career,  measured  by  ordinary 
academical  rules,  was  not  a  very  brilliant  one. 
His  renderings  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics 
were  indeed  quite  above  those  of  the  majority 
of  his  classmates  ;  of  those  who  could  go  better 
through  the  declensions  and  conjugations,  and 
give  more  accurately  the  rules  of  grammar  and 
accidence.  But  we  are  told  that  "  in  philosophy 
he  did  very  poorly,  and  mathematics  were  his  ut 
ter  despair."  In  certain  other  respects  he  stood 
well  up  in  his  class — ranking  higher  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  students  than  upon  the  rolls  of  the 
Faculty.  He  made  good  use  of  the  college  li 
brary,  which,  although  it  then  contained  barely 
twenty-five  thousand  volumes,  was  the  largest  in 
the  country.  We  are  told  that  "he  read  and 
re-read  the  early  English  dramatists,  and  knew 
Shakspeare  almost  by  heart."  He  also  showed 
decided  talent  for  composition  and  declamation, 
and  in  his  junior  year  gained  the  first  prize  for  an 
essay  upon  the  "  Character  of  Socrates,"  and  in 
his  senior  year  the  second  prize  for  an  essay  upon 


26  EMERSON. 

"The  Present  State  of  Ethical  Philosophy." 
These  facts  indicate  that  he  must  have  really 
studied  the  higher  forms  of  philosophy  to  good 
purpose,  even  though  he  received  low  marks  for 
his  formal  recitations.  He  was  also  the  poet  of 
his  class  upon  "Class-Day."  Still,  his  general 
standing  was  little  if  any  above  the  middle  of  his 
class.  Of  the  sixty  members,  about  half  received 
places  in  the  public  Commencement  exercises. 
The  part  assigned  to  Emerson  was  one  in  a  "  Con 
ference  on  the  Characters  of  John  Knox,  William 
Penn,  and  John  Wesley,"  Emerson  setting  forth 
the  paramount  claims  of  the  Scottish  reformer. 
But  his  standing  was  not  such  as  to  gain  for  him 
an  election  to  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  which 
admitted  only  those  who  were  esteemed  to  be  the 
best  scholars  of  the  successive  classes. 

He  graduated  in  1821,  being  seventeen  years  of 
age.  His  elder  brother  had  in  the  mean  while 
established  a  school  in  Boston,  in  which  Ralph  be 
came  a  teacher  for  several  years.  He  looked  for 
ward  to  the  Christian  ministry  as  his  vocation  in 
life,  and  set  about  the  study  of  theology,  without, 
however,  entering  the  Cambridge  Divinity  School, 
the  recognized  avenue  of  approach  to  the  Unita 
rian  ministry.  Notwithstanding  this,  he  was  in 
1826  "approbated  to  preach  "by  the  Middlesex 
Association.  But,  his  health  having  become  im 
paired,  he  passed  a  winter  in  the  South.  Return 
ing  to  New  England,  his  character  and  attainments 


IN  THE  MINISTRY.  27 

must  have  come  to  be  appreciated ;  for,  in  1829, 
he  was  called  to  the  important  position  of  col 
league  to  Henry  Ware  in  the  pastorate  of  the 
Second  Church  (Unitarian)  of  Boston.  A  year 
after  this  Mr.  Ware  resigned  in  order  to  become 
Professor  of  Pulpit  Eloquence  and  Pastor  of  Har 
vard  College,  and  Emerson  became  sole  minister 
of  the  Second  Church  of  Boston.  In  1830  he 
married  Ellen  Louisa  Tucker,  of  Boston,  who 
died  within  a  year  after  their  marriage. 


III. 

IK  THE   MINISTRY. 

EMERSON'S  career  as  a  clergyman  lasted  about 
four  years.  That  his  duties  were  faithfully  and 
acceptably  performed  is  abundantly  evinced  by 
the  circumstances  which  occasioned  his  resigna 
tion  of  the  pastorate,  and  his  virtual  abandon 
ment  of  the  sacred  office.  Of  his  sermons  only 
one,  as  far  as  we  know,  has  ever  been  published, 
and  that  only  four  years  ago  as  an  appendix  to 
Mr.  Frothingham's  "  Transcendentalism  in  New 
England."  It  was  his  farewell  discourse  to  the 
people  of  his  charge,  and  the  last  sermon  which 
he  ever  preached.  It  is  worthy  of  somewhat  ex- 


28  EMERSON. 

tended  mention,  as  indicating  some  important 
modifications  which  had  taken  place  in  his  theo 
logical  views,  and  as  marking  the  turning-point 
in  his  career  of  life. 

He  had  come  to  more  than  doubt  the  authority 
and  even  the  usefulness  of  the  Christian  rite  of 
the  Lord's  Supper.  His  objections  to  it  did  not 
rest  at  all  upon  the  mysterious  doctrines  of  Tran- 
substantiation  and  Consubstantiation,  for  which 
so  many  men  have  been  sent  to  the  stake,  and 
have  sent  others  to  the  stake.  He  was  quite  will 
ing  to  let  others  understand  in  their  own  way  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  "This  is  my  body,"  if  so 
be  they  could  thereby  gain  any  spiritual  good. 
His  own  objections  to  the  present  practice  of  the 
ordinance  lay  far  deeper  than  any  mere  question 
as  to  the  form  of  administering  it.  In  his  view 
the  rite  was  never  instituted  by  Jesus  as  a  per 
manent  one  for  his  followers  through  the  ages ; 
and  whatever  of  usefulness  it  may  have  had  in  the 
olden  time,  this  had  passed  away  ;  and  for  him  at 
least,  it  was  an  outworn  garment  to  be  flung  aside. 
The  sacerdotal  blessing  of  the  bread  and  wine  was 
a  ceremony  in  which  he  could  no  longer  take  part. 
He  hoped,  indeed,  that  some  better  form  of  com 
memoration  of  the  death  of  Jesus  might  be  de 
vised,  in  which  he  could  conscientiously  take 
part.  The  congregation  did  not  agree  with  him, 
but  decided  unanimously  that  the  rite  should  be 
administered  as  it  had  always  been  with  them. 


IN  THE  MINISTRY.  29 

Emerson  thereupon  formally  resigned  the  pastor 
ate,  and  preached  this  notable  discourse. 

THE    F  ABE  WELL   SEKMON. 

The  text  and  theme  of  the  sermon  was  Romans 
xiv.  17,  where  Paul  declares  that  "The  kingdom 
of  God  is  not  meat  and  drink,  but  righteousness 
and  peace  and  joy  and  peace  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 
The  discourse  began  in  a  quiet  way,  touching  first 
upon  some  of  the  disputes  which  have  been  waged 
in  respect  to  the  rite  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  Some 
of  the  conclusions  being  that — 

"  There  never  has  been  any  unanimity  in  the  under 
standing  of  its  nature,  nor  any  uniformity  in  the  mode 
of  celebrating  it.  Without  considering  the  frivolous 
questions  as  to  the  posture  in  which  men  should  partake 
of  it,  whether  mixed  or  unmixed  wine  should  be  served, 
whether  leavened  or  unleavened  bread  should  be  broken, 
the  questions  have  been  settled  differently  in  every 
church  who  should  be  admitted  to  the  feast,  and  how 
often  it  should  be  prepared.  In  the  Catholic  Church  in 
fants  were  at  one  time  permitted  and  then  forbidden  to 
partake ;  and  since  the  ninth  century  the  laity  receive 
the  bread  only,  the  cup  being  reserved  for  the  priest 
hood.  .  .  .  But  more  important  controversies  have 
arisen  respecting  its  nature.  The  famous  question  of  the 
Real  Presence  was  the  main  controversy  between  the 
Church  of  England  and  the  Church  of  Rome.  The 
doctrine  of  Consubstantiation,  taught  by  Luther,  was 
denied  by  Calvin.  In  the  Church  of  England,  Arch 
bishops  Laud  and  Wake  maintained  that  the  elements 


30  EMERSON. 

were  an  eucharist  or  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving  to  God ; 
Oudworth  and  Warburton  that  it  was  not  a  sacrifice,  but 
a  sacrificial  feast ;  and  Bishop  Hoadley  that  it  was  neither 
a  sacrifice  nor  a  feast  after  a  sacrifice,  but  a  simple 
commemoration.  And  finally  it  is  now  near  two  hun 
dred  years  since  the  Society  of  Quakers  denied  the  au 
thority  of  the  rite  altogether,  and  gave  good  reasons  for 
disusing  it." 

Having  premised  that  these  facts  were  alluded 
to  "only  to  show  that  so  far  from  the  Supper 
being  a  tradition  in  which  men  are  fully  agreed, 
there  has  always  been  room  for  the  widest  differ 
ence  of  opinion  upon  this  particular,"  Mr.  Emer 
son  goes  on  to  define  his  own  position,  and  the 
essential  grounds  upon  which  it  was  based  : 

"  Having  recently  given  particular  attention  to  this 
subject,  I  was  led  to  the  conclusion  that  Jesus  did  not 
intend  to  establish  an  institution  for  perpetual  observ 
ance  when  he  ate  the  Passover  with  Ids  disciples;  and 
further,  to  the  opinion  that  it  is  not  expedient  to  cele 
brate  it  as  we  now  do." 

He  then  proceeds  to  discuss  the  question  as  to 
the  authority  of  the  rite.  An  account  of  the  Last 
Supper,  he  says  in  substance,  is  given  by  the  four 
Evangelists  :  Matthew  records  the  words  of  Jesus 
in  giving  the  bread  and  wine  to  his  disciples  on 
that  occasion ;  but  there  is  nothing  said  which 
indicates  that  the  feast  was  hereafter  to  be  com 
memorated.  Mark  gives  the  same  words,  still 


IN  THE   MINISTRY.  31 

with  no  intimation  that  the  occasion  was  to  bo 
remembered.  Luke,  after  relating  the  breaking 
of  the  bread,  has  these  words,  "This  do  in  re 
membrance  of  me."  In  John,  although  the  other 
transactions  of  the  evening  are  related,  this  whole 
transaction  is  passed  over  without  notice.  The 
whole  matter  is  thus  summed  up  : 

SCRIPTURAL   AUTHORITY    A8   TO    THE   SUPPER. 

"Now  observe  the  facts.  Two  of  the  Evangelists, 
Matthew  and  John,  were  of  the  twelve  disciples,  and 
were  present  on  the  occasion.  Neither  of  them  drops 
the  slightest  intimation  of  any  intention  on  the  part  of 
Jesus  to  set  up  anything  permanent.  John,  especially, 
the  beloved  disciple,  who  has  recorded  with  minuteness 
the  conversation  and  the  transactions  of  that  memorable 
evening,  has  quite  omitted  such  a  notice.  Neither  does 
it  appear  to  have  come  to  the  knowledge  of  Mark,  who, 
though  not  an  eye-witness,  relates  the  other  facts.  This 
material  fact,  that  the  occasion  was  to  be  remembered, 
is  found  in  Luke  alone,  who  was  not  present.  There  is 
no  reason,  however,  that  we  know,  for  rejecting  the  ac 
count  of  Luke.  I  doubt  not  the  expression  was  used  by 
Jesus.  I  shall  presently  consider  its  meaning.  I  have 
only  brought  these  accounts  together  that  you  may  judge 
whether  it  is  likely  that  a  solemn  institution,  to  be  con 
tinued  to  the  end  of  time  by  all  mankind,  as  they  should 
come,  nation  after  nation,  within  the  influence  of  the 
Christian  religion,  would  have  been  established  in  this 
slight  manner — in  a  manner  so  slight  that  the  intention 
of  commemorating  it  should  not  appear,  from  their  nar 
rative,  to  have  caught  the  ear,  or  dwelt  in  the  mind,  of 


32  EMERSON. 

the  only  two  among  the  twelve  who  wrote  down  what 
had  happened.  But  supposing  that  the  expression,  '  This 
do  in  remembrance  of  rae,'  had  come  to  the  ear  of  Luke 
from  some  disciple  who  was  present,  what  does  it  really 
signify  ?" 

Mr.  Emerson  goes  on  to  state  what  he  supposes 
lay  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  upon  this  memorable  oc 
casion  :  "  He  was  a  Jew,  sitting  with  his  country 
men,  celebrating  their  national  feast.  He  thinks 
of  his  own  impending  death,  and  wishes  the  minds 
of  his  disciples  to  be  prepared  for  it.  He  says  to 
them  :  '  When  hereafter  you  shall  keep  this  Pass- 
oyer,  it  will  have  an  altered  aspect  to  your  eyes. 
It  is  now  an  historical  covenant  of  God  with  the 
Jewish  nation.  Hereafter  it  will  remind  you  of 
a  new  covenant,  sealed  with  my  blood.  In  years 
to  come,  as  long  as  your  people  shall  come  up  to 
Jerusalem  to  keep  this  feast,  the  connection  which 
has  subsisted  between  us  will  give  a  new  meaning 
in  your  eyes  to  the  national  festival,  as  the  anni 
versary  of  my  death. ":  And  much  more  to  the 
same  general  purport ;  the  upshot  of  all  being 
that  the  supper  was  not  a  sequel  to  the  Passover, 
but  was  the  Passover  itself.  "Jesus  did  with  his 
disciples  exactly  what  every  master  of  a  family  in 
Jerusalem  was  doing  at  the  same  hour  with  his 
household."  He  thus  proceeds  : 

TEMPORARY   DESIGN    OF   THE    RITE. 

"I  see  natural  feeling  and  beauty  in  such  language 
from  Jesus — a  friend  to  his  friends.  I  can  readily  im- 


^  IN  THE   MINISTRY.  33 

agine  that  he  was  willing  and  desirous,  when  his  dis 
ciples  met,  that  his  memory  should  hallow  their  inter 
course  ;  but  I  cannot  believe  that  in  the  use  of  such  an 
expression  he  looked  beyond  the  living  generation — be 
yond  the  abolition  of  the  festival  he  was  celebrating,  and 
the  scattering  of  the  nation,  and  meant  to  impose  a  me 
morial  feast  upon  the  whole  world.  He  may  have  fore 
seen  that  his  disciples  would  meet  to  remember  him,  and 
that  with  good  effect.  It  may  have  crossed  his  mind 
that  this  would  be  easily  continued  a  hundred  or  a  thou 
sand  years — as  men  more  easily  retain  a  form  than  a  vir 
tue — and  yet  have  been  altogether  out  of  his  purpose  to 
fasten  it  upon  men  in  all  times  and  all  countries." 

Mr.  Emerson  admits  that  St.  Paul  presents  a 
view  of  the  supper  which  accords  in  general  with 
the  common  view  of  its  origin  and  nature.  But 
in  this  matter  he  gives  little  weight  to  the  author 
ity  of  Paul.  To  us,  who  regard  the  authority  of 
Paul  as  not  inferior  to  any  other,  the  argument 
of  Emerson  and  the  conclusions  based  upon  it 
have  no  validity.  Still,  it  is  fitting  that  they 
should  be  fairly  presented  : 

THE   AUTHORITY    OF   ST.    PAUL   QUESTIONED. 

"  I  am  of  opinion  that  it  is  wholly  upon  the  Epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  not  upon  the  Gospels,  that  the 
ordinance  stands.  But  there  is  a  material  circumstance 
which  diminishes  our  confidence  in  the  correctness  of  the 
Apostle's  view;  and  that  is  the  observation  that  his 
mind  had  not  escaped  the  prevalent  error  of  the  primi 
tive  Church — the  belief  that  the  second  coming  of  Christ 
3 


34  EMERSON. 

would  shortly  occur;  until  which  time,  he  tells  them 
that  this  feast  was  to  be  kept  up.  In  this  manner  we 
may  see  clearly  enough  how  this  current  ordinance  got 
its  footing  among  the  early  Christians;  and  this  single 
expectation  of  the  speedy  reappearance  of  a  temporal 
Messiah,  which  kept  its  influence  even  over  so  spiritual 
a  man  as  St.  Paul,  would  naturally  tend  to  preserve  the 
use  of  the  rite  when  once  established. 

"We  arrive,  then,  at  this  conclusion:  First,  that  it 
does  not  appear,  from  a  careful  examination  of  the  ac 
count  of  the  Lord's  Supper  in  the  Evangelists,  that  it  was 
designed  by  Jesus  to  be  perpetual.  Secondly,  that  it 
does  not  appear  that  the  opinion  of  St.  Paul,  all  things 
considered,  ought  to  alter  our  opinion  derived  from  the 
Evangelists." 

Having,  as  he  believes,  set  aside  the  historical 
argument  for  the  perpetual  observance  of  the  rite 
of  the  Lord's  Supper,  Mr.  Emerson  proceeds  to 
state  at  some  length  his  own  objections  to  its  ob 
servance  in  its  present  form,  or  in  any  other  in 
which  its  characteristic  features  should  be  essen 
tially  maintained.  These  objections  resolve  them 
selves  into  three,  which  are  here  presented,  con 
siderably  abridged  : 

EMEESON'S  OBJECTIONS  TO  THE  RITE. 

"  (1.)  If  the  view  which  I  have  taken  of  the  history 
of  the  institution  be  correct,  then  the  claim  of  authority 
should  be  dropped  in  administering  it.  You  say  every 
time  that  you  celebrate  the  rite  that  Jesus  enjoined  it; 
but,  if  you  read  the  New  Testament  as  I  do,  you  do  not 
believe  he  did. 


IN  THE   MINISTRY.  35 

"  (2.)  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  tho  use  of  this  ordi 
nance  tends  to  produce  confusion  in  our  views  of  the 
relation  of  the  soul  to  God.  It  is  the  old  objection  to 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity — that  the  true  worship  was 
transferred  from  God  to  Christ,  or  that  such  confusion 
was  introduced  into  the  soul  that  an  individual  worship 
was  given  nowhere.  The  service  does  not  stand  upon 
the  basis  of  a  voluntary  act,  but  is  imposed  by  authority. 
It  is  an  expression  of  gratitude  to  Christ,  enjoined  by 
Christ.  Here  is  an  endeavor  to  keep  Jesus  in  mind, 
whilst  yet  the  prayers  are  addressed  to  God.  I  fear  it  is 
the  effect  of  this  ordinance  to  clothe  Jesus  with  an  au 
thority  which  he  never  claimed,  and  which  distracts  the 
mind  of  the  worshipper.  I  believe  that  the  human  mind 
can  admit  but  one  God,  and  that  every  effort  to  pay  re 
ligious  homage  to  more  than  one  Being  goes  to  take 
away  all  right  ideas. 

"  (3.)  The  use  of  the  elements,  however  suitable  to 
the  peoples  and  modes  of  thought  of  the  East,  is  foreign 
and  unsuited  to  us.  We  are  not  accustomed  to  express 
our  thoughts  or  emotions  by  symbolical  actions.  And 
men  find  the  bread  and  wine  no  aid  to  devotion ;  and  to 
some  it  is  a  painful  impediment.  To  eat  bread  is  one 
thing;  to  love  the  principles  of  Christ,  and  resolve  to 
obey  them,  is  quite  another." 

This  last  objection  is  the  one  most  strenuously 
urged  by  Mr.  Emerson.  "I  think/'  he  says, 
"that  this  difficulty,  wherever  it  is  felt,  is  enti 
tled  to  the  greatest  weight.  It  is  alone  a  sufficient 
objection  to  the  ordinance.  It  is  my  own  objec 
tion."  He  adds  emphatically: 


36  EMERSON. 

AN    APPROPRIATE    COMMEMORATION. 

"  This  mode  of  commemorating  Christ  is  not  suitable 
to  me.  That  is  reason  enough  why  I  should  abandon  it. 
if  I  believed  that  it  was  enjoined  by  Jesus  on  his  disci 
ples,  and  that  he  even  contemplated  making  permanent 
this  mode  of  commemoration,  every  way  agreeable  to  an 
Eastern  mind,  and  yet  if  on  trial  it  was  disagreeable  to 
me,  I  should  not  adopt  it.  I  should  choose  other  ways 
which,  as  more  effectual  upon  me,  he  would  approve 
more.  For  I  choose  that  my  remembrances  of  him  should 
be  pleasing,  affecting,  religious.  I  will  love  him,  as  a 
glorified  friend,  after  the  free  ways  of  friendship,  and 
not  pay  him  a  stiff  sign  of  respect,  as  men  do  to  those 
whom  they  fear.  A  passage  read  from  his  discourses,  a 
moving  provocation  to  works  like  his,  any  act  or  meeting 
which  tends  to  awaken  a  pure  thought,  a  flow  of  love,  an 
original  design  of  virtue,  I  call  a  worthy,  a  true  commein- 
ation." 

Impelled  by  these  and  such  like  considerations, 
Emerson  had  proposed  to  the  brethren  of  his  con 
gregation  that  the  use  of  bread  and  wine,  and  all 
claim  by  authority,  should  be  dropped  from  the 
administration  of  the  ordinance.  Not  a  man 
would  consent  to  this  change — proof  sufficient 
that  none  of  them  were  conscious  of  the  difficul 
ties  which  pressed  upon  their  pastor.  Little 
weight  as  any  or  all  of  these  objections  have  upon 
our  mind,  we  cannot  fail  to  honor  the  conscien 
tious  and  self-sacrificing  spirit  in  which  he  carried 
out  his  convictions,  as  thus  set  forth  in  the  clos 
ing  passage  of  this  sermon  : 


IN  THE   MINISTRY.  37 

THE   FINAL    EESOLVE. 

u  It  is  my  desire,  in  the  office  of  a  Christian  minister, 
to  do  nothing  which  I  cannot  do  with  my  whole  heart. 
Having  said  this,  I  have  said  all.  I  have  no  hostility  to 
this  institution  ;  I  am  only  stating  my  want  of  sympathy 
with  it.  Neither  should  I  have  ever  obtruded  this  opin 
ion  upon  other  people,  had  I  not  been  called  by  my  office 
to  administer  it.  That  is  the  end  of  my  opposition,  that 
I  am  not  interested  in  it.  I  am  content  that  it  should 
stand  to  the  end  of  the  world,  if  it  pleases  men  and 
pleases  heaven,  and  I  shall  rejoice  in  all  the  good  that  it 
produces.  .  .  . 

u  As  it  is  the  prevailing  opinion  and  feeling  in  our  re 
ligious  community  that  it  is  an  indispensable  part  of  the 
pastoral  office  to  administer  this  ordinance,  I  am  about 
to  resign  into  your  hands  the  office  which  you  have  con 
fided  to  me.  It  has  many  duties  for  which  I  am  feebly 
qualified.  It  has  some  which  it  will  always  be  my  de 
light  to  discharge,  according  to  my  ability,  wherever  I 
exist.  And  whilst  the  recollection  of  its  claims  oppresses 
me  with  a  sense  of  my  unworthiness,  I  am  consoled  by 
the  hope  that  no  time  and  no  change  can  deprive  me  of 
the  satisfaction  of  pursuing  and  expressing  its  highest 
functions." 

Thus,  for  conscience's  sake,  early  in  Septem 
ber,  1832,  Emerson,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine, 
virtually  shut  himself  out  from  continuing  in  that 
career  of  life  upon  which  he  had  so  lately  entered 
with  such  brilliant  prospects  of  success.  His  res 
ignation  of  the  pastorate  was  accepted,  but  the 
"  proprietors  "  yoted  that  his  salary  should  be  con- 


38  EMERSON. 

tinned.  Most  likely  they  hoped  that  the  difficul 
ty  would  somehow  be  got  over,  and  he  would  re 
sume  his  work.  But  he  was  broken  in  health  and 
depressed  in  spirits,  and  meditated  a  trip  to  Eu 
rope.  So,  near  the  close  of  December,  he  relin 
quished  his  emoluments,  and  addressed  a  tender 
farewell  letter  to  his  congregation.  Some  portions 
of  this  letter  are  of  special  interest  as  setting  forth 
his  own  religious  status  at  this  period  of  his  life. 

THE    FAREWELL   LETTEK. 

"  Our  connection  has  been  very  short.  It  is  now  to 
be  brought  to  a  sudden  close ;  and  I  look  back,  I  own, 
with  a  painful  sense  of  weakness  to  the  little  service  I 
have  been  able  to  render  after  so  much  expectation  on 
my  part,  to  the  checkered  space  of  time  which  domestic 
afflictions  and  personal  infirmities  have  made  still  shorter 
and  more  unprofitable. 

"  As  long  as  he  remains  in  the  same  place,  a  man  flat 
ters  himself,  however  keen  may  be  his  sense  of  his  fail 
ures  and  unworthiness,  that  he  shall  yet  accomplish 
much  ;  that  the  future  shall  make  amends  for  the  past ; 
that  his  very  errors  shall  prove  his  instructors  :  and  what 
limit  is  there  to  hope  ?  But  a  separation  from  our  place, 
the  close  of  a  particular  career  of  duty,  shuts  the  book, 
bereaves  us  of  that  hope,  and  leaves  us  only  to  lament 
how  little  has  been  done. 

"  Yet  our  faith  in  the  great  truths  of  the  New  Testa 
ment  makes  the  change  of  place  and  circumstances  of  less 
account  to  us,  by  fixing  our  attention  upon  that  which  is 
unalterable.  I  find  great  consolation  in  the  thought  that 
the  resignation  of  my  present  relations  makes  so  little 


IN  THE   MINISTRY.  39 

change  to  myself.  I  ana  no  longer  your  minister,  but  am 
not  the  less  engaged,  I  trust,  to  the  love  and  service  of 
the  same  eternal  cause — the  advancement,  namely,  of  the 
kingdom  of  God  in  the  hearts  of  men.  The  tie  which 
hinds  each  of  us  to  that  cause  is  not  created  by  our  con 
nection,  and  cannot  be  hurt  by  our  separation.  To  me, 
as  one  disciple,  is  the  ministry  of  truth,  as  far  as  I  can 
discern  or  declare  it,  committed ;  and  I  desire  to  live  no 
where  and  no  longer  than  that  grace  of  God  is  imparted 
to  me — the  liberty  to  seek,  and  the  liberty  to  utter  it. 

"  I  rejoice  to  believe  that  my  ceasing  to  exercise  the 
pastoral  office  among  you  does  not  make  any  real  change 
in  our  spiritual  relations  to  each  other.  "Whatever  is 
most  desirable  and  excellent  in  it  remains  to  us.  If  we 
have  conspired  from  week  to  week  in  the  sympathy  and 
expression  of  devout  sentiments;  if  we  have  received 
together  the  unspeakable  gift  of  God's  truth  ;  if  we  have 
studied  together  any  sense  of  the  Divine  Word,  or  striven 
together  in  any  charity  ;  above  all,  if  we  have  shared  in 
any  habitual  acknowledgment  of  that  benignant  God 
whose  omnipotence  raises  and  glorifies  the  meanest  offices 
and  the  lowest  ability,  and  opens  heaven  in  every 
heart  that  worships  him — then,  indeed,  are  we  united; 
we  are  mutually  debtors  to  each  other  of  faith  and  hope, 
engaged  to  confirm  each  other's  hearts  in  obedience  to 
the  gospel.  We  shall  not  feel  that  the  nominal  changes 
and  little  separations  of  this  world  can  release  us  from 
the  strong  courage  of  this  spiritual  bond.  And  I  entreat 
you  to  consider  how  truly  blessed  will  have  been  our 
connection  if  in  this  manner  the  memory  of  it  shall  serve 
to  bind  each  one  of  us  more  strictly  to  the  practice  of 
our  several  duties.  .  .  . 

"  I  pray  God  that  whatever  seed  of  truth  and  virtue 


40  EMERSON. 

we  have  sown  and  watered  together  may  bear  fruit  unto 
eternal  life.  I  commend  you  to  the  Divine  Providence. 
May  he  grant  you  in  your  ancient  sanctuary  the  services 
of  able  and  faithful  teachers ;  and,  whatever  of  discipline 
may  be  appointed  to  you  in  this  world,  may  the  blessed 
hope  of  the  resurrection  he  has  implanted  in  the  consti 
tution  of  the  human  soul,  and  confirmed  and  manifested 
by  Jesus  Christ,  be  made  good  to  you  beyond  the  grave. 
In  this  hope  and  faith  I  bid  you  farewell." 

Immediately  after  sending  this  letter,  Mr. 
Emerson  set  out  upon  his  first  visit  to  Europe, 
where  he  spent  nearly  a  year,  mainly  in  Italy  and 
Great  Britain. 


IV. 

VISITS  TO  EUROPE. 

OP  his  first  visit  Mr.  Emerson  has  given  only 
a  very  brief  account,  extracted  many  years  after 
ward  from  his  note-books.  Of  the  places  which 
he  visited,  and  the  incidents  of  travel,  he  says 
nothing,  confining  himself  wholly  to  reports  of 
his  interviews  with  a  few  notable  men.  "  As 
they  respect,"  he  says,  "parties  quite  too  good 
and  too  transparent  to  the  whole  world,  there  is 
no  need  to  affect  any  prudery  of  expression  about 
a  few  hints  of  these  bright  personalities."  These 
personal  sketches  evince  a  phase  of  Emerson's  ca- 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  41 

pabilities  of  which  there  is  elsewhere  little  trace 
except  in  what  he  has  to  say  of  Margaret  Fuller, 
to  whose  biography  by  her  brother  and  James 
Freeman  Clarke  he  contributed  some  interesting 
chapters. 

He  went  first  to  Italy.  At  Florence,  where 
he  made  the  longest  stay,  he  was  intimate  with 
Horatio  Greenough,  the  American  sculptor, 
"  whose  face  was  so  handsome,  and  his  person  so 
well  formed,  that  he  might  be  pardoned  if,  as 
was  alleged,  the  face  of  his  Medora  and  the  figure 
of  a  colossal  Achilles  in  clay  were  idealizations  of 
his  own." 

HOKATIO    GKEENOUGH. 

"  He  was,"  says  Emerson,  "  a  superior  man,  ardent 
and  eloquent,  and  all  Ms  opinions  had  elevation  and 
magnanimity.  He  believed  that  the  Greeks  had  wrought 
in  schools  or  fraternities,  the  genius  of  the  master  im 
parting  his  design  to  his  friends,  and  inflaming  them 
with  it ;  and,  when  his  strength  was  spent,  a  new  hand, 
with  equal  heat,  continued  the  work,  and  so,  by  short 
relays,  until  it  was  finished  in  every  part  with  equal  fire. 
This  was  necessary  in  so  refractory  a  material  as  stone ; 
and  he  thought  Art  would  never  prosper  until  we  left 
our  shy,  jealous  ways,  and  worked  in  society  as  they. 
All  his  thoughts  breathed  the  same  noble  generosity. 
He  was  an  accurate  and  a  deep  man ;  a  votary  of  the 
Greeks,  and  impatient  of  Gothic  Art." 

Through  Greenough  Mr.  Emerson  was  intro 
duced  to  Walter  Savage  Landor,  then  residing 


42  EMERSON. 

near  Florence,  to  all  appearance  in  the  most  hap 
py  manner.  Landor  was  about  sixty  years  old, 
and  his  character  had  not  yet  assumed  those 
darker  shades  which  it  bore  in  his  extreme  old 
age.  Emerson  saw  Landor  only  twice  ;  but  his 
representation  of  the  man  at  his  best  is  worthy  of 
reproduction.  We  give  his  account  of  these  two 
interviews  : 

WALTER    SAVAGE    LANDOE. 

"  On  the  15th  of  May  I  dined  with  Mr.  Landor.  I 
found  him  noble  and  courteous,  living  in  a  cloud  of  pic 
tures  at  his  Villa  Gherardesca,  a  fine  house  command 
ing  a  beautiful  landscape.  I  had  inferred  from  his 
book,  or  magnified  from  some  anecdote,  an  impression  of 
Achillean  wrath,  an  untamable  petulance.  I  do  not 
know  whether  the  imputation  were  just  or  not,  but  cer 
tainly  on  this  May  day  his  courtesy  vailed  that  haughty 
mind,  and  he  was  the  most  patient  and  gentle  of  hosts. 
He  admired  Washington ;  talked  of  Wordsworth,  Byron, 
Massinger,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  To  be  sure,  he  is 
decided  in  his  opinions,  likes  to  surprise,  and  is  well 
content  to  impress,  if  possible,  his  English  whim  upon 
the  immutable  past.  No  great  man,  he  said,  ever  had  a 
great  son,  if  Philip  and  Alexander  be  not  an  exception  ; 
and  Philip  he  calls  the  greater  man.  In  Art  he  loves 
the  Greeks,  and  in  sculpture  them  only.  He  prefers  the 
Venus  to  everything  else,  and,  after  that,  the  head  of 
Alexander,  in  the  gallery  here.  He  prefers  John  of  Bo 
logna  to  Michel  Angelo ;  in  painting,  Raffaelle ;  and 
shares  the  growing  taste  for  Perugino  and  the  early  mas 
ters.  The  Greek  historians  he  thought  the  only  good, 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  43 

and,  after  them,  Voltaire.  He  pestered  me  with  Southey, 
but  who  is  Southey  ? 

"  He  invited  me  to  breakfast  on  Friday,  and  I  did  not 
fail  to  go — this  time  with  Greenough.  He  entertained 
us  at  once  with  reciting  half  a  dozen  hexameter  lines  of 
Julius  Caesar's.  He  glorified  Lord  Chesterfield  more  than 
was  necessary;  undervalued  Burke,  and  undervalued 
Socrates ;  designated  as  the  three  greatest  of  men,  "Wash 
ington,  Phocion,  and  Timoleon,  and  did  not  even  omit  to 
remark  the  similar  termination  of  their  names.  '  A  great 
man,'  he  said,  '  should  make  great  sacrifices,  and  kill  his 
hundred  oxen  without  knowing  whether  they  would  be 
consumed  by  gods  and  heroes,  or  whether  the  flies  would 
eat  them.'  He  despised  entomology,  yet  in  the  same 
breath  said,  '  The  sublime  is  in  a  grain  of  dust.'  I  sup 
pose  I  teased  him  about  recent  writers  ;  but  he  professed 
never  to  have  heard  of  Herschel,  not  even  by  name. 
One  room  was  full  of  pictures,  which  he  likes  to  show, 
especially  one  piece,  standing  before  which  he  said,  *  I 
would  give  fifty  guineas  to  the  man  who  would  swear 
that  it  was  a  Domenichino.'  I  was  more  curious  to  see 
his  library,  but  was  told  by  one  of  the  guests  that  he 
gives  away  his  books,  and  has  never  more  than  a  dozen 
at  a  time  in  his  house. 

"  Mr.  Landor  carries  to  its  height  the  love  of  freak, 
which  the  British  like  to  indulge,  as  if  to  signalize  their 
commanding  freedom.  He  has  a  wonderful  brain,  des 
potic,  violent,  and  inexhaustible ;  meant  for  a  soldier,  by 
some  chance  converted  to  letters,  in  which  there  is  not  a 
style  nor  a  tint  not  known  to  him  ;  yet  with  an  English 
appetite  for  action  and  heroes.  '  The  thing  done  avails, 
and  not  what  is  said  about  it ;  an  original  sentence,  a 
step  forward,  is  worth  more  than  all  the  censures.'  Lan- 


44  EMERSON. 

dor  is  strangely  undervalued  in  England,  usually  ignored, 
and  sometimes  savagely  attacked  in  the  Reviews.  The 
criticism  may  be  right  or  wrong,  and  is  quickly  forgotten, 
but  year  after  year  the  scholar  must  still  go  back  to  Lan- 
dor  for  a  multitude  of  elegant  sentences — for  wisdom, 
wit,  and  indignation  that  are  unforgetable." 

From  Italy  Emerson  proceeded  to  England  by 
way  of  France.  He  tells  almost  cynically  what 
were  the  motives  which  led  him  to  visit  Great 
Britain  :  "Like  most  young  men  of  that  time,  I 
was  much  indebted  to  the  men  of  Edinburgh'  and 
the  'Edinburgh  Beview' — to  Jeffrey,  Mackin 
tosh,  Hallam,  and  to  Scott,  Playfair,  and  De 
Quincey ;  and  my  narrow  and  desultory  reading 
had  inspired  the  wish  to  see  the  faces  of  three  or 
four  writers  :  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Landor,  De 
Quincey,  and  Carlyle,  the  latest  and  strongest 
contributor  to  the  critical  journals.  I  suppose,  if 
I  had  sifted  the  reasons  which  led  me  to  Europe, 
it  was  mainly  the  attraction  of  these  persons.  If 
Goethe  had  been  still  living,  I  might  have  wan 
dered  into  Germany  also.  Besides  those  I  have 
named  (for  Scott  was  dead)  there  was  not  the 
man  living  whom  I  cared  to  behold,  unless  it  were 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  whom  I  saw  in  West 
minster  Abbey  at  the  funeral  of  Wilberf orce. "  Of 
the  men  whom  he  saw  in  Great  Britain,  he  gives 
sketches  only  of  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Car 
lyle.  The  account  of  the  interview  with  Cole 
ridge  is  of  interest  as  presenting,  as  far  as  we 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  45 

know,  the  latest  word-picture  which  we  have  of 
the  man  ;  for  Carlyle's  characteristic  mention  of 
him,  in  the  "  Life  of  Sterling,"  belongs  to  a  period 
some  years  earlier. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

"From  London,  on  the  5th  of  August,  1833,"  says 
Emerson,  u  I  went  to  Highgate,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Mr. 
Coleridge,  requesting  to  pay  my  respects  to  him.  It 
was  near  noon.  Mr.  Coleridge  sent  a  verbal  message 
that  he  was  in  bed,  but  if  I  would  call  after  one  o'clock, 
he  would  see  me.  I  returned  at  one,  and  he  appeared — 
a  short,  thick  old  man,  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and  fine, 
clear  complexion.  He  took  snuff  freely,  which  pres 
ently  soiled  his  cravat  and  neat  black  suit. 

"  He  asked  whether  I  knew  Allston,  and  spoke 
warmly  of  his  merits  and  doings  when  he  knew  him  at 
Rome  [more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  before].  He 
spoke  of  Dr.  Channing :  *  it  was  an  unspeakable  misfor 
tune  that  he  had  turned  out  a  Unitarian,  after  all.'  Oa 
this  he  broke  out  into  a  burst  of  declamation  on  the  folly 
and  ignorance  of  Unitarianism — its  high  unreasonable 
ness ;  and  taking  up  Bishop  Waterland's  book,  which 
lay  on  the  table,  he  read  with  vehemence  two  or  three 
pages  written  by  himself  on  the  fly-leaves—passages 
which  I  believe  are  printed  in  his  'Aids  to  Reflec 
tion.' 

"  When  he  stopped  to  take  breath,  I  interposed  that, 
'  while  I  highly  valued  all  his  explanations,  I  was  bound 
to  tell  him  that  I  was  born  and  bred  a  Unitarian.' 
4  Yes,'  he  said,  'I  supposed  so,'  and  continued  as  before : 
'It  was  a  wonder  that  after  so  many  ages  of  unquestion- 


46  EMERSON. 

ing  acquiescence  in  the  doctrine  of  St.  Paul — the  doc 
trine  of  the  Trinity,  which  was  also,  according  to  Philo 
Judseus,  the  doctrine  of  the  Jews  before  Christ — this 
handful  of  Priestleians  should  take  on  themselves  to 
deny  it,"  etc.,  etc.  He  was  sorry  that  Dr.  Channing,  '  a 
man  to  whom  he  looked  up — no,  to  say  that  he  looked 
up  to  him  would  be  to  speak  falsely — but  a  man  whom 
he  looked  at  with  so  much  interest — should  embrace 
such  views.'  When  he  saw  Dr.  Channing,  he  had  hinted 
to  him  that  he  was  afraid  he  loved  Christianity  for  what 
was  lovely  and  excellent ;  he  loved  the  good  in  it,  and 
not  the  true ;  '  and  I  tell  you.  sir,  that  I  have  known  ten 
persons  who  loved  the  good,  for  one  person  who  loved 
the  true ;  but  it  is  a  far  greater  virtue  to  love  the  true 
for  itself  alone,  than  to  love  the  good  for  itself  alone.' 
He  himself  knew  all  about  Unitarianism  perfectly  well, 
because  he  had  once  been  a  Unitarian,  and  knew  what 
quackery  it  was. 

"He  went  on  defining,  or  rather  refining:  'The 
Trinitarian  doctrine  was  realism ;  the  idea  of  a  God  was 
not  essential,  but  super-essential.'  Talked  of  trinism 
and  tetralcism,  and  much  more,  of  which  I  only  caught 
this:  'The  will  is  that  by  which  a  person  is  a  person; 
because  if  one  should  push  me  into  the  street,  and  so  I 
should  force  the  man  next  me  into  the  kennel,  I  should 
at  once  exclaim,  I  did  not  do  it,  sir,  meaning  that  it  was 
not  my  will.'  And  this  also,  '  If  you  should  insist  on 
your  faith  here  in  England,  and  I  on  mine,  mine  would 
be  the  hotter  side  of  the  fagot.'  " 

It  is  not  easy  to  understand  what  Coleridge 
meant  to  imply  in  this  last  sentence.  The  inter 
view  was  not  wholly  made  up  of  theological  and 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  47 

theosophical  declamation ;  but  Emerson  con 
trived  now  and  then  to  get  in  a  word  which  for  a 
moment  interrupted  the  sing-song,  snuffy  flow  of 
Coleridge's  talk.  Learning  that  his  visitor  had 
just  been  in  Malta  and  Sicily,  Coleridge  said  : 
"  Sicily  is  an  excellent  school  of  political  econo 
my  ;  for  it  only  needs  to  ask  what  Government 
has  enacted,  and  reverse  that,  to  know  what 
ought  to  be  done.  It  is  the  most  felicitously  op 
posite  legislation  to  anything  good  and  wise. 
There  are  only  three  things  which  the  Govern 
ment  has  brought  into  that  garden  of  delights, 
namely,  itch,  pox  \i.  e.  syphilis],  and  famine  ; 
whereas,  in  Malta,  the  force  of  law  and  mind  was 
seen  in  makipg  that  barren  rock  of  semi-Saracenic 
inhabitants  the  seat  of  population  and  plenty." 
When  Emerson  rose  to  go,  Coleridge  said,  "I  do 
not  know  whether  you  care  about  poetry,  but  I 
will  repeat  some  verses  I  lately  made  on  my  bap 
tismal  anniversary ; "  and  then,  still  standing,  he 
recited  with  strong  emphasis  this  poem,  probably 
the  last  but  one  ever  composed  by  him  : 

"  God's  child  in  Christ  adopted,  Christ  my  all, 

What  that  earth  boasts  were  not  lost  cheaply,  rather 

Than  forfeit  that  blest  name  by  which  I  call 
The  Holy  One,  the  Almighty  God,  my  Father? 

Father  !  in  Thee  we  live,  and  Christ  in  Thee — 

Eternal  Thou,  and  everlasting  we. 

The  heir  of  heaven,  henceforth  I  fear  not  death: 

In  Christ  I  live !  in  Christ  I  draw  the  breath 


48  EMERSON. 

Of  the  true  life !  Let,  then,  earth,  sea,  and  sky 
Make  war  against  me !     On  my  front  I  show 

Their  mighty  Master's  seal.     In  vain  they  try 
To  end  my  life,  that  can  hut  end  its  woe. 
Is  that  a  deathbed  where  a  Christian  lies  ? 
Yes!  but  not  his — 'tis  death  itself  there  dios." 

Emerson  thus  concludes  his  account  of  the 
interview  with  Coleridge  : 

"  I  was  in  his  company  for  about  an  hour,  but  find  it 
impossible  to  recall  the  largest  part  of  his  discourse, 
which  was  often  like  so  many  printed  paragraphs  in  his 
book — perhaps  the  same — so  readily  did  he  fall  into  cer 
tain  commonplaces.  As  I  might  have  foreseen,  the  visit 
was  rather  a  spectacle  than  a  conversation,  of  no  use 
beyond  the  satisfaction  of  my  curiosity.  He  was  old  and 
preoccupied,  and  could  not  bend  to  a  new  companion  and 
think  with  him. 

Not  quite  a  year  after  this  Coleridge  passed 
from  this  earthly  life.  If  his  biography  shall  ever 
come  to  be  fairly  written,  it  would  be  one  of  the 
saddest  books  ever  composed. 

A  fortnight  after  this  interview  with  Cole 
ridge,  Emerson  went  to  Eydal  Mount  to  pay  his 
respects  to  "Wordsworth.  The  exterior  aspect  of 
the  man,  now  sixty-three  years  old,  belied  the 
great  philosophic  poet.  "He  was,"  says  Emer 
son,  "a plain,  elderly,  white-haired  man,  not  pre 
possessing,  and  disfigured  by  green  goggles."  We 
abridge  the  account  of  this  interview  : 


VISITS  TO   EUROPE.  49 

WILLIAM     WORDSWOKTH. 

"  He  had  much  to  say  of  America,  the  more  that  it 
gave  occasion  for  his  favorite  topic — that  society  is  being 
enlightened  by  a  superficial  tuition  out  of  all  proportion 
to  its  being  restrained  by  moral  culture.  '  Schools  do 
no  good.  Tuition  is  not  education.'  He  thinks  more  of 
the  education  of  circumstances  than  of  tuition.  *  It  is 
not  a  question  whether  there  are  offenses  of  which  the 
law  takes  cognizance,  but  whether  there  are  offenses  of 
which  the  law  does  not  take  cognizance.'  Sin  is  what 
he  fears,  and  how  society  is  to  escape  without  gravest 
mischiefs  from  this  source.  He  even  said,  what  seemed 
a  paradox,  that  they  needed  a  civil  war  in  America  to 
teach  the  necessity  of  knitting  the  social  ties  stronger. 
'  There  may  be,'  he  said,  'in  America  some  vulgarity  in 
manner ;  but  that's  not  important.  That  comes  of  the 
pioneer  state  of  things.  But  I  fear  they  are  too  much 
given  to  the  making  of  money ;  and,  secondly,  to  poli 
tics  ;  that  they  make  political  distinction  the  end,  and 
not  the  means.  And  I  fear  that  they  lack  a  class  of  men 
of  leisure — in  short,  of  gentlemen,  to  give  a  tone  of  honor 
to  the  community.'  He  was  against  taking  off  the  tax 
on  newspapers  in  England,  which  the  reformers  repre 
sent  as  a  tax  upon  knowledge,  for  this  reason,  that  they 
would  be  inundated  with  base  prints.  He  wished  to  im 
press  on  me,  and  all  good  Americans,  to  cultivate  the 
moral,  the  constructive,  etc.,  and  never  to  call  into  action 
the  physical  strength  of  the  people,  as  had  just  now  been 
done  in  England  in  the  Reform  Bill. 

"  The  conversation  turned  upon  books.    Lucretius  he 

esteems  a  far  higher  poet  than  Yirgil ;  not  in  his  system, 

which  is  nothing,  but  in  his  power  of  illustration.    '  Faith 

is  necessary  to  explain  anything,  and  to  reconcile  the 

4 


50  EMERSON. 

foreknowledge  of  God  with  human  evil.'  Of  Cousin, 
whose  lectures  we  had  all  been  reading  in  Boston,  he 
knew  only  the  name. 

"  I  inquired  if  he  had  read  Carlyle's  critical  articles 
and  translations.  He  said  he  thought  him  sometimes 
insane.  He  proceeded  to  abuse  Goethe's  '  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter '  heartily.  '  It  was  full  of  all  manner  of  fornication. 
It  was  like  the  crossing  of  flies  in  the  air.'  He  had  never 
gone  further  than  the  first  book ;  so  disgusted  was  he 
that  he  threw  the  book  across  the  room.  I  said  what  I 
could  for  the  better  parts  of  the  book ;  and  he  courteous 
ly  promised  to  look  at  it  again.  He  said  that  Carlyle 
wrote  most  obscurely.  He  was  clever  and  deep,  but  he 
defied  the  sympathies  of  everybody.  Even  Coleridge 
wrote  more  clearly,  though  he  had  always  wished  that 
Coleridge  would  write  more  to  be  understood. 

"  He  led  me  out  into  his  garden,  and  showed  me  the 
gravel  walk  in  which  thousands  of  his  lines  were  com 
posed.  His  eyes  are  much  inflamed;  this  is  no  loss 
except  for  reading,  as  he  never  writes  prose,  and  of 
poetry  he  carries  hundreds  of  lines  in  his  head  before 
writing  them.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to 
Staffa,  and  within  three  days  had  made  three  sonnets  on 
Fingal's  Cave.  '  If  you  are  interested  in  my  verses,'  he 
said,  *  perhaps  you  will  like  to  hear  these  lines.'  I  gladly 
assented  ;  and  he  recollected  himself  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  stood  forth  and  repeated,  one  after  another  the 
three  entire  sonnets  with  great  animation.  I  fancied  the 
second  and  third  more  beautiful  than  his  poems  are 
wont  to  be.  This  recitation  was  so  unlooked-for  and  sur 
prising — he,  the  old  Wordsworth,  standing  apart  and  re 
citing  to  me  in  a  garden-walk,  like  a  school-boy  declaim 
ing — that  I  at  first  was  near  to  laugh ;  but  recollecting 


VISITS  TO  EUEOPE.  51 

myself,  that  I  had  come  thus  far  to  see  a  poet,  and 
that  he  was  chanting  poems  to  me,  I  saw  that  he  was 
right  and  I  was  wrong,  and  gladly  gave  myself  up  to 
hear. 

"I  told  him  how  much  the  few  printed  extracts  had 
quickened  the  desire  to  possess  his  unpublished  poems. 
He  replied  that  he  was  never  in  haste  to  publish ;  partly 
because  he  corrected  a  good  deal,  and  every  alteration  is 
ungraciously  received  after  printing;  but  what  he  had 
written  would  be  printed  whether  he  lived  or  died.  I 
said  '  Tintern  Abbey  '  appeared  to  be  the  favorite  poem 
with  the  public,  but  more  contemplative  readers  pre 
ferred  the  first  books  of  the  l  Excursion,'  and  the  sonnets. 
He  said,  '  Yes,  they  are  better.'  " 

This  interview  with  Wordsworth  took  place 
in  the  summer  of  1833.  Fifteen  years  after, 
that  is  in  1848,  Emerson  again  visited  Europe, 
this  time  to  deliver,  by  special  invitation,  a  series 
of  lectures  in  the  principal  places  of  England  and 
Scotland.  He  was  now  no  longer  an  unknown 
young  American,  but  a  man  of  mature  years  and 
established  reputation,  to  whom  the  best  doors  in 
the  land  were  open.  Happening  to  be  a  guest  of 
Harriet  Martineau,  a  near  neighbor  of  Words 
worth,  the  two  paid  a  visit  to  the  poet,  now 
almost  four  score  years  of  age.  Emerson  has  pre 
served  some  interesting  notes  of  the  last  visit, 
characteristic  of  the  two  men.  A  quarter  of  a 
century  seems  to  have  made  little  change  in 
Wordsworth.  "We  found  him,"  says  Emerson, 


52  EMERSON. 

"asleep  on  the  sofa.  He  was  at  first  silent  and 
indisposed,  as  an  old  man  who  had  suddenly  wak 
ened  up  before  he  had  ended  his  nap."  But  soon 
he  became  full  of  talk  on  the  French  news  and 
various  other  topics.  ' '  His  face  sometimes  lighted 
up,  but  his  conversation  was  not  marked  by  special 
force  or  elevation.  He  had  a  weather-beaten  face  ; 
his  features  corrugated,  especially  the  large  nose. 
...  He  was  nationally  bitter  on  the  French ; 
bitter  on  the  Scotchmen  too.  f  No  Scotchman,' 
he  said,  'can  write  English.'  He  detailed  two 
models  on  one  or  other  of  which  all  the  sentences 
of  the  historian  Robertson  are  framed.  Nor  could 
Jeffrey  or  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers  write  English ; 
nor  could  Carlyle,  who  was  '  a  pest  to  the  English 
tongue.'  He  added  incidentally,  t  Gibbon  cannot 
write  English.'"  Of  Tennyson  he  spoke  in  terms 
of  rather  reluctant  approval.  In  fact,  Words 
worth  had  long  wrapped  himself  up  in  the  belief 
that  there  was  very  little  poetry  worth  reading  ex 
cept  his  own.  Personally,  though  one  of  the  best 
of  men,  he  was  one  of  the  most  ungenial. 

One  would  have  supposed  that,  of  all  English 
poets,  Wordsworth  would  have  been  the  prime 
favorite  with  Emerson.  He  does  indeed  speak 
highly  of  him,  but  usually  with  a  kind  of  con 
straint,  as  though  he  was  half  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  praise  him.  But,  in  the  end,  at  the  close  of 
the  account  of  this  last  interview,  he  gives  this 
fair  and  just  estimate  of  the  poet : 


VISITS   TO   EUROPE.  53 

WOEDSWOETH'S  GENIUS. 

"  Who  that  reads  him  well  will  know  that  in  follow 
ing  the  strong  bent  of  his  genius  he  was  careless  of  the 
many,  careless  also  of  the  few,  self-assured  that  he 
should  '  create  the  taste  by  which  he  was  to  be  enjoyed.' 
He  lived  long  enough  to  witness  the  revolution  he  had 
wrought,  and  '  to  see  what  he  foresaw.'  There  are' torpid 
places  in  his  mind ;  there  is  something  hard  and  sterile 
in  his  poetry ;  want  of  grace,  want  of  variety,  want  of 
due  catholic  and  cosmopolitan  scope.  He  had  confor 
mities  to  English  politics  and  traditions ;  he  had  egotis 
tical  peculiarities  in  the  choice  and  treatment  of  his  sub 
jects.  But  let  us  say  of  him  that,  alone  of  his  time,  he 
treated  the  human  mind  well,  and  with  absolute  truth. 
His  adherence  to  his  poetic  creed  rested  on  real  inspira 
tions.  The  Ode  on  'Immortality'  is  the  high-water 
mark  which  the  intellect  has  reached  in  this  age.  New 
means  were  employed,  and  new  realms  added  to  the  em 
pire  of  the  muse  by  his  courage." 

THOMAS    OAELTLE. 

To  see  Carlyle  was  one  of  the  main  motives 
which  led  Emerson,  after  a  six  months'  sojourn 
in  Italy,  to  visit  Great  Britain.  Carlyle  was  now 
thirty-eight  years  old,  eight  years  the  senior  of 
Emerson.  Destined  for  the  ministry  of  the  Kirk 
of  Scotland,  he  had  at  the  age  of  twenty-two 
found  that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  doctrines  of 
the  Church  of  his  fathers,  and  could  not  honestly 
enter  upon  its  ministry.  He  engaged  in  literary 
task-work  with  stubborn  industry  and  fair  sue- 


54  EMERSON. 

cess.  He  translated  Legendre's  Geometry  from 
the  French,  prefixing  a  valuable  Introduction ; 
translated  Goethe's  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  and  sev 
eral  volumes  of  tales  from  the  German  ;  and  wrote 
for  Encyclopaedias,  Reviews,  and  Magazines.  At 
thirty  he  married  Jane  Welch,  whose  moderate 
fortune  relieved  him  from  the  necessity  of  doing 
task-work  for  his  daily  bread.  In  1828  he  took 
up  his  abode  at  Craigenputtoch,  a  lonely  estate 
among  the  granite  hills  and  black  morasses  which 
stretch  westward  through  Galloway  almost  to  the 
Irish  Sea.  In  a  letter  to  Goethe  he  describes  the 
reasons  which  led  him  to  take  up  his  abode  in 
this  solitary  spot,  and  his  mode  of  life  there  : 

"In  this  wilderness  of  heath  and  rock  our  estate 
stands  forth  a  green  oasis,  a  tract  of  plowed,  partly  in 
closed  and  planted  ground,  where  corn  ripens  and  trees 
afford  a  shade,  although  surrounded  by  sea-mews  and 
rough-wooled  sheep.  Here,  with  no  small  effort,  have 
we  built  and  furnished  a  neat  and  substantial  dwelling ; 
here,  in  the  absence  of  professional  or  other  office,  we  live 
to  cultivate  literature  according  to  our  strength,  and  in 
our  own  peculiar  way.  We  wish  a  joyful  growth  to  the 
roses  and  flowers  of  our  garden;  we  hope  for  health 
and  peaceful  thoughts  to  further  our  aims.  This  nook 
of  ours  is  the  loneliest  in  Britain,  six  miles  removed  from 
any  one  who  would  be  likely  to  visit  me.  But  I  came 
with  the  design  to  simplify  my  way  of  life,  and  to  secure 
the  independence  through  which  I  could  be  enabled  to 
remain  true  to  myself.  Nor  is  the  solitude  of  so  great 
importance,  for  a  stage-coach  takes  me  speedily  to  Edin- 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  55 

burgh.  And  have  I  not  too,  at  this  moment,  piled  up 
upon  the  table  of  my  little  library,  a  whole  cart-load  of 
French,  German,  American,  and  English  periodicals — 
whatever  may  be  their  worth !  " 

At  Craigenputtoch,  during  the  six  years  pre 
ceding  Emerson's  visit,  were  written  the  greater 
part  and  certainly  the  best  of  those  critical  and 
biographical  essays  which  showed  him  to  be  "the 
latest  and  strongest  contributor  to  the  critical 
journals."  Unlike  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth, 
the  aspect  and  bearing  of  the  man  more  than  con 
firmed  the  high  estimate  which  Emerson  had 
formed  of  the  writer.  He  describes  this  first 
meeting : 

OAELYLE    AT    CRAIGENPTJTTOOH. 

"  From  Edinburgh  I  went  to  the  Highlands.  On  my 
return  I  came  from  Glasgow,  to  Dumfries,  intent  on  de 
livering  a  letter  which  I  had  brought  from  Rome,  and 
inquired  for  Craigenputtoch.  It  was  a  farm  in  Nithsdale, 
in  the  parish  of  Dunscore,  sixteen  miles  distant.  No 
public  coach  passed  near  it,  so  I  took  a  private  carriage 
from  the  inn.  I  found  the  lonely  house  amid  desolate 
heathery  hills,  where  the  lonely  scholar  nourished  his 
mighty  heart.  Carlyle  was  a  man  from  his  youth ;  an 
author  who  did  not  need  to  hide  from  his  readers ;.  and 
as  absolute  a  man  of  the  world,  unknown  and  exiled  on 
that  hill-farm,  as  if  holding  on  his  own  terms  what  was 
best  in  London. 

"  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  with  a  cliff-like  brow ;  hold 
ing  his  extraordinary  powers  in  easy  control ;  clinging 
to  his  northern  accent  with  evident  relish ;  full  of  lively 


56  EMERSON. 

anecdote,  and  with  a  streaming  humor  which  floated 
everything  he  looked  upon.  His  talk,  playfully  exalting 
the  familiar  objects,  put  the  companion  at  once  into  ac 
quaintance  with  his  Lares  and  Lemurs,  and  it  was  very 
pleasant  to  learn  what  was  destined  to  be  a  pretty  my 
thology. 

"Few  were  the  objects,  and  lonely  the  man;  'not  a 
person  to  speak  to  except  the  minister  of  Dunscore  ' ;  so 
that  books  universally  made  his  topics.  He  had  names 
of  his  own  for  all  the  matters  familiar  to  his  discourse. 
Blackwood's  was  the  'Sand  Magazine';  Eraser's,  a 
nearer  approach  to  possibility  of  life,  was  the  'Mud 
Magazine.'  A  piece  of  road  near  by,  that  marked  some 
failed  enterprise,  was  the  '  Grave  of  the  Last  Sixpence.' 
When  too  much  praise  of  any  genius  annoyed  him,  he 
professed  hugely  to  admire  the  genius  of  his  pig.  He 
had  spent  much  time  and  contrivance  in  confining  the 
poor  beast  to  one  enclosure  of  the  pen ;  but  pig,  by  a 
great  stroke  of  judgment,  had  found  out  how  to  let  a 
board  down,  and  had  foiled  him.  For  all  that,  he  still 
thought  man  '  the  most  plastic  little  fellow  on  the  planet.' 
He  liked  Nero's  death  (^Qualis  artifex  pereo — What  an 
artist  do  I  die)  better  than  most  history.  He  worships 
a  man  that  will  manifest  any  truth  to  him.  At  one  time 
he  had  inquired  and  read  much  about  America,  whither 
he  had  thoughts  of  emigrating.  Landor's  principle  was 
mere  rebellion,  and  that,  he  feared,  was  the  American 
principle.  The  best  thing  he  knew  of  the  country  was 
that  in  it  a  man  can  have  meat  for  his  labor.  He  had 
read  in  Stewart's  book  that,  when  he  inquired  in  a  New 
York  hotel  for  '  Boots,'  he  had  been  shown  across  the 
street,  and  had  found  Mungo  in  his  own  house,  dining  on 
roast  turkey. 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  57 

"He  talked  of  books.  Plato  he  does  not  read,  and 
he  despised  Socrates;  and,  when  pressed,  persisted  iu 
making  Mirabeau  a  hero.  Gibbon  he  called  '  the  splen 
did  bridge  from  the  old  world  to  the  new.'  His  own 
reading  had  been  multifarious.  '  Tristram  Shandy  '  was 
one  of  his  first  books  after  'Robinson  Crusoe,'  and  Rob 
ertson's  *  America '  an  early  favorite.  Rousseau's  '  Con 
fessions  '  had  discovered  to  him  that  he  was  not  a  dunce. 
It  was  now  ten  years  since  he  had  learned  German,  by 
the  advice  of  a  man  who  told  him  that  in  that  language 
he  would  find  what  he  wanted.  He  took  despairing  or 
satirical  views  of  literature  at  this  moment ;  recounted 
the  great  sums  paid  in  one  year  by  the  great  booksellers 
for  puffing.  'Hence  it  comes  that  no  newspaper  is 
trusted  now ;  no  books  are  bought,  and  the  booksellers 
are  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy.' 

"  He  still  returned  to  English  pauperism ;  the  crowded 
state  of  the  country,  and  the  selfish  abdication  by  public 
men  of  all  that  public  persons  should  perform.  '  Gov 
ernment,'  he  said,  '  should  direct  poor  men  what  to  do. 
Poor  Irish  folk  come  wandering  over  these  moors.  My 
dame  makes  it  a  rule  to  give  to  every  son  of  Adam  bread 
to  eat,  and  supplies  his  wants  to  the  next  house.  But 
here  are  thousands  of  acres  which  might  give  them  all 
meat ;  and  nobody  to  bid  these  poor  Irish  to  go  to  the 
moor  and  till  it.  They  burned  the  stacks,  and  so  found 
a  way  to  force  the  rich  people  to  attend  to  them.' 

"We  went  to  walk  over  the  long  hills,  and  looked  at 
Criffel — then  without  his  cap — and  down  into  Words 
worth's  country.  There  we  sat  down,  and  talked  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  It  was  not  Carlyle's  fault  that 
we  talked  on  that  topic ;  for  he  had  the  natural  disincli 
nation  of  every  nimble  spirit  to  bruise  himself  against 


58  EMERSON. 

walls,  and  did  not  like  to  place  himself  where  no  step 
can  be  taken.  But  he  was  honest  and  true,  and  cogni 
zant  of  the  subtle  links  that  bind  ages  together ;  and  saw 
how  every  event  affects  the  future.  '  Christ,'  he  said, 
'  died  on  the  tree ;  that  built  Dunscore  yonder ;  that 
brought  you  and  me  together.  Time  has  only  relative 
existence.' 

"  He  was  already  turning  his  eye  toward  London, 
with  a  scholar's  appreciation.  'London,'  he  said,  'is  the 
heart  of  the  world,  wonderful  only  from  the  mass  of 
human  beings.  I  like  the  huge  machine.  Each  keeps  its 
own  round.  The  baker's  boy  brings  muffins  to  the  win 
dow  at  a  fixed  hour  every  day ;  and  that  is  all  that  the 
Londoner  knows  or  wishes  to  know  of  the  subject.  But 
it  turns  out  good  men.'  He  named  certain  individuals, 
especially  one  man  of  letters,  his  friend,  the  best  man  he 
knew,  whom  London  had  well  served." 

This  first  meeting  with  Carlyle,  in  1833,  brief 
as  it  was,  resulted  in  a  warm  personal  friendship 
which  was  never  broken  until  Carlyle  was  laid  in 
his  grave  four-and-forty  years  after.  Emerson, 
by  his  collection  of  the  "  Sartor  Eesartus  "  papers, 
a  few  years  later,  was  the  first  to  fairly  make  Car 
lyle  known,  upon  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Car 
lyle  had  vainly  ransacked  London  to  find  a  pub 
lisher  who  would  print  them  in  a  book.  The  best 
that  any  bookseller's  "reader"  could  say  of  it 
was,  that  "  The  author  is  a  person  of  talent.  His 
work  displays,  here  and  there,  some  felicity  of 
thought  and  expression,  considerable  fancy  and 
knowledge ;  but  whether  it  would  take  with  the 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  59 

public  is  doubtful.  The  author  has  no  great  tact ; 
his  wit  is  frequently  heavy."  And  when  at  length 
"  Sartor  Resartus  "  began  to  appear  piecemeal  in 
"Eraser's  Magazine,"  whatever  remark  it  occa 
sioned  in  England  was  of  a  no  wise  flattering 
character.  The  newspaper  critics  fell  upon  it  in 
their  most  flippant  manner.  One  pronounced  it 
"  a  mass  of  clotted  nonsense,  mixed,  however,  here 
and  there,  with  passages  marked  by  thought  and 
striking  poetic  vigor."  There  were  sentences 
which  might  "be  read  backward  or  forward,  for 
they  are  equally  intelligible  either  way.  Indeed, 
by  beginning  at  the  tail,  and  so  working  up  to 
the  head,  we  think  the  reader  will  stand  the  fair 
est  chance  of  getting  at  the  meaning."  Emerson 
himself,  warned  perhaps  by  the  slight  favor  which 
has  been  shown  to  his  own  "Nature,"  did  not 
expect  for  the  book  any  immediate  popularity. 
In  an  almost  apologetic  preface,  he  says  : 

"SAETOR   EESAETUS." 

"  The  editors  would  not  undertake,  as  there  was  no 
need,  to  justify  the  gay  costume  in  which  the  author  de 
lights  to  dress  his  thoughts,  or  the  German  idioms  with 
which  he  has  sportively  sprinkled  his  pages.  It  is  his 
humor  to  advance  the  gravest  speculations  in  a  quaint 
and  burlesque  style.  If  his  masquerade  offend  any  of  his 
audience  to  that  degree  that  they  will  not  hear  what  he 
has  to  say,  it  may  chance  to  draw  others  to  listen  to  his 
wisdom.  But  we  will  venture  to  remark  that  the  distaste 
excited  by  these  peculiarities,  in  some  readers,  is  greatest 


60  EMERSON. 

at  first,  and  is  soon  forgotten.  The  author  makes  ample 
amends  for  the  occasional  eccentricity  of  his  genius,  not 
only  by  frequent  bursts  of  pure  splendor,  but  by  the  wit 
and  sense  which  never  fail  him." 

After  those  few  hours  of  genial  discourse  at 
Craigenputtoch,  Carlyle  and  Emerson  never  saw 
each  other  again  until  1848.  During  the  inter 
vening  almost  twenty  years  the  position  of  the 
two  men  had  materially  changed.  Both  had 
passed  the  noonday  of  life,  but  both  were  in  full 
possession  of  their  rare  powers.  Both  had  fought 
the  battle  of  life,  and  both  had  come  out  victors. 
Emerson  had,  by  his  "Nature,"  Lectures,  and 
Essays,  won  a  high  place  in  the  domain  of  thought 
in  his  own  country,  and  his  reputation  had  crossed 
the  ocean,  so  that  he  had  been  invited  to  lecture 
in  all  the  principal  towns  in  England  and  Scot 
land  ;  and  the  door  of  every  house  which  he  could 
care  to  enter  was  open  to  him.  Carlyle  had  writ 
ten  the  " French  Revolution,"  " Chartism,"  "Past 
and  Present,"  and  had  gathered  together  the  "Let 
ters  and  Speeches  of  Cromwell,"  "gathered  them 
from  far  and  near  ;  fished  them  up  from  foul  Le 
thean  quagmires  where  they  lay  buried  ;  washed 
them  clean  from  foreign  stupidities,"  and  accom 
panied  them  with  a  running  commentary  which 
comes  near  to  being  a  life  of  the  great  Lord  Pro 
tector,  or  at  least  furnishes  abundant  material  for 
such  a  life.  Now,  at  the  age  of  two-and-fifty,  he 


VISITS  TO   EUROPE.  61 

stood  the  foremost  figure  in  English  literature. 
Emerson  saw  much  of  Carlyle  in  his  modest  London 
home ;  and  years  after,  in  his  "English  Traits/' 
he  gave  some  account  of  this  intercourse  ;  espe 
cially  of  a  summer  trip  which  they  made  together 
to  see  the  ancient  Druidical  structure  of  Stone- 
henge.  Of  this  trip  he  gives  a  full  account.  We 
present  it  here,  out  of  its  chronological  order,  as 
furnishing  some  striking  characteristics  of  the  two 
men,  who  acted  and  interacted  so  largely  upon 
each  other  ;  men  so  like  in  a  few  respects,  so  un 
like  in  many  respects. 

To  Emerson,  as  he  says,  this  trip  had  a  double 
attraction  :  of  the  monument,  which  neither  had 
seen,  and  of  the  companion.  "It  seemed  a  bring 
ing  together  of  extreme  points  to  visit  the  oldest 
religious  monument  of  Britain  in  company  of  her 
latest  thinker,  one  whose  influence  may  be  traced 
in  every  contemporary  book.  I  was  glad  to  sum 
up  a  little  of  my  experiences,  and  to  exchange  a 
few  reasonable  words  on  the  aspects  of  England 
with  a  man  on  whose  genius  I  set  a  high  value. 
We  took  the  railway  to  Salisbury,  where  we  found 
a  carriage  to  convey  us  to  Amesbury,  passing  by 
Old  Sarum,  a  bare,  treeless  hill,  once  containing 
the  town  which  sent  two  members  to  Parliament 
—now,  not  a  hut."  The  fine  weather  and  Oar- 
lyle's  local  knowledge  of  Hampshire,  where  he  was 
wont  to  spend  a  part  'of  every  summer,  made  the 
journey  short.  Of  the  conversation  by  the  way 


62  EMERSON. 

Emerson  gives  a  few  characteristic  bits,  treasured 
up  in  note-book  and  memory  : 


TALK    ON    THE    EOAD. 

"  There  was  much  to  say  of  the  traveling  Americans, 
and  their  usual  objects  in  London.  I  thought  it  natural 
that  they  should  give  some  time  to  works  of  art  collected 
here,  which  they  can  not  find  at  home ;  and  a  little  to 
scientific  clubs  and  museums,  which  make  London  very 
attractive.  But  my  philosopher  was  not  contented. 
'Art,'  and  'High  Art,'  is  a  favorite  object  of  his  wit. 
'  Yes,'  he  said,  '  Kunst  is  a  great  delusion ;  and  Goethe 
and  Schiller  wasted  a  great  deal  of  time  on  it.'  And  he 
thinks  he  discovers  that  old  Goethe  found  this  out,  and 
in  his  later  writings  changed  his  tone.  He  said,  '  As  soon 
as  a  man  begins  to  talk  of  art,  architecture,  and  antiqui 
ties,  nothing  good  comes  of  it.'  He  wishes  to  go  through 
the  British  Museum  in  silence,  and  thinks  a  sincere  man 
will  see  something  and  say  nothing.  In  these  days  he 
thought  it  became  an  architect  to  consult  only  the  grim 
necessity,  and  say,  '  I  can  build  you  a  coffin  for  such  per 
sons  as  you  are,  and  for  such  dead  purposes  a.s  you  have ; 
but  you  shall  have  no  ornament.'  For  the  sciences  he 
had,  if  possible,  even  less  tolerance ;  and  compared  the 
savants  of  Somerset  House  to  the  boy  who  asked  Confu 
cius,  '  How  many  stars  in  the  sky  ? '  Confucius  answered 
that  he  minded  things  near  him.  '  How  many  hairs  in 
your  eyebrows?'  Confucius  said  he  didn't  know  and 
didn't  care.  Of  the  Americans,  Carlyle  complained  that 
they  dislike  the  coldness  and  exclusiveness  of  the  English, 
and  run  away  to  France,  and  go  with  their  countrymen, 
and  are  amused,  instead  of  manfully  staying  in  London, 


VISITS  TO   EUROPE.  63 

confronting  Englishmen,  and  acquiring  their  culture,  who 
have  really  so  much  to  teach  them." 

If  we  may  put  faith  in  a  tithe  of  what  Carlyle 
was  wont  to  say  and  write  in  those  days,  English 
men,  or  at  least  the  London  species  of  Englishmen, 
had  very  little  to  teach  which  it  was  worth  any 
body's  while  to  take  the  trouble  to  learn.  He 
seems  to  have  spoken,  as  was  often  the  case  with 
him,  the  things  which  lay  nearest  the  tip  of  his 
tongue,  without  taking  much  heed  as  to  whether 
it  was  truth  or  caricature.  Emerson  responded 
with  that  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  which  he 
never  lost  sight. 

"I  told  Carlyle  that  I  was  easily  dazzled,  and  was  ac 
customed  to  concede  readily  all  that  an  Englishman  would 
ask.  I  see  everywhere  in  this  country  proofs  of  sense 
and  spirit,  and  success  of  every  sort.  I  like  the  people. 
They  are  as  good  as  they  are  handsome.  They  have 
everything,  and  can  do  everything.  But  meantime  I 
surely  know  that,  as  soon  as  I  return  to  Massachusetts,  I 
shall  lapse  into  the  feeling,  which  the  geography  of 
America  inevitably  inspires,  that  we  play  the  game  with 
immense  advantage ;  that  there,  and  not  here,  is  the  seat 
and  center  of  the  English  race ;  and  that  no  skill  or  ac 
tivity  can  long  compete  with  the  prodigious  natural  ad 
vantages  of  that  country,  in  the  hands  of  the  same  race ; 
and  that  England,  an  old  and  exhausted  country,  must 
be  contented,  like  other  parents,  to  be  strong  only  in  her 
children." 

"This,"    says   Emerson,    "is   a   proposition 


64  EMERSON. 

which  no  Englishman,  of   whatever  condition, 
can  easily  entertain." 

It  is  seldom  that  Emerson  undertakes  any  de 
tailed  description  of  particular  natural  scenery. 
Indeed,  the  general  scope  of  his  prose  works  pre 
cludes  such.  But  scattered  everywhere  are  de 
tached  sentences  which  evince  that  he  looked 
upon  nature  with  open  eyes  ;  and  his  account  of 
Stonehenge  and  their  visit  shows  that  he  had 
within  him  capacities  for  picturesque  description 
which  would  have  enabled  him  to  write  a  bril 
liant  book  of  travel — say  another  "  Eothen." 

THE   VISIT   TO    STONEHENGE. 

"  After  dinner  we  walked  to  Salisbury  Plain.  On 
the  broad  downs,  under  the  gray  sky,  not  a  house  was 
visible;  nothing  but  Stonehenge,  which  looked  like  a 
group  of  brown  dwarfs  in  the  wide  expanse — Stone 
henge,  and  the  barrows  which  rise  like  green  bosses 
about  the  plain,  and  a  few  hayricks.  On  the  top  of  a 
mountain  the  old  temple  would  not  be  more  impressive. 
Far  and  wide,  a  few  shepherds  with  their  flocks  sprinkled 
the  plain,  and  a  bagman  drove  along  the  road.  It  looked 
as  if  the  wide  margin  given  in  this  crowded  isle  to  this 
primeval  temple  were  accorded  by  the  British  race  to  the 
old  egg  out  of  which  all  their  ecclesiastical  structures 
and  history  had  proceeded. 

"  Stonehenge  is  a  circular  colonnade  with  the  diame 
ter  of  a  hundred  feet,  and  inclosing  a  second  and  a  third 
colonnade  within.  We  walked  round  the  stones,  and 
clambered  over  them,  to  wont  ourselves  with  their 
strange  associations  and  groupings.  We  found  a  nook, 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  65 

sheltered  from  the  wind,  among  them,  where  Carlyle 
lighted  his  cigar.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  that  just  this 
simplest  of  all  simple  structures — two  upright  stones,  and 
a  lintel  laid  across — has  long  outstood  all  later  churches, 
and  all  history,  and  is  like  what  is  most  permanent  on 
the  face  of  the  planet.  These,  and  the  barrows — mere 
mounds — of  which  there  are  one  hundred  and  sixty 
within  a  circle  of  three  miles  about  Stonehenge — like  the 
same  mound  on  the  plain  of  Troy,  which  still  makes 
good  to  the  passing  mariner  on  the  Hellespont  the  vaunt 
of  Homer  and  the  fame  of  Achilles.  Within  the  inclo- 
sure  grow  buttercups  and  nettles,  and  all  around  wild 
thyme,  meadow-sweet,  golden-rod,  thistles,  and  the  shel 
tering  grass.  Over  us  larks  were  soaring  and  singing :  as 
Carlyle  said,  'the  larks  which  were  hatched  last  year,  and 
the  wind  which  was  hatched  many  thousand  years  ago.' 
u  We  counted  and  measured  by  paces  the  biggest 
stones,  and  soon  knew  as  much  as  any  man  can  suddenly 
know  of  the  inscrutable  temple.  There  are  ninety-four 
stones,  and  there  were  once  probably  one  hundred  and 
sixty.  The  temple  is  circular  and  uncovered,  and  the 
situation  fixed  astronomically  ;  the  grand  entrance,  here 
and  at  Abury,  being  placed  exactly  northeast,  as  all  the 
gates  of  the  old  cavern  temples  are.  How  came  the 
stones  here  ?  for  these  Sarcens,  or  Druidical  sandstones, 
are  not  found  in  this  neighborhood.  The  '  Sacrificial 
Stone,'  as  it  is  called,  is  the  only  one  of  all  these  blocks 
that  can  resist  the  action  of  fire ;  and,  as  I  read  in  books, 
must  have  been  brought  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  I, 
who  had  just  come  from  Professor  Sedgwick's  Cambridge 
Museum  of  Megatheria  and  Mastodons,  was  ready  to 
maintain  that  some  cleverer  elephants  or  mylodonta  had 
borne  off  and  laid  these  rocks  on  one  another :  only  the 
5 


66  EMERSON. 

good  beasts  must  have  known  how  to  cut  a  well- wrought 
tenon  and  mortise,  and  to  smooth  the  surface  of  some  of 
the  stones. 

"  The  chief  mystery  is  that  any  mystery  should  have 
been  allowed  to  settle  on  so  remarkable  a  monument,  in 
a  country  on  which  all  the  Muses  have  kept  their  eyes 
now  for  eighteen  hundred  years.  We  are  not  yet  too 
late  to  learn  much  more  than  is  known  of  this  structure. 
Some  diligent  Layard  or  Fellowes  will  arrive,  stone  by 
stone,  at  the  whole  history,  by  that  exhaustive  British 
sense  and  perseverance,  so  whimsical  in  its  choice  of  sub 
jects,  which  leaves  its  own  Stonehenge  or  Choir  Gaur  to 
the  rabbits,  while  it  opens  pyramids  and  uncovers  Nine 
veh.  Stonehenge,  in  virtue  of  the  simplicity  of  its  plan, 
and  its  good  preservation,  is  as  if  new  and  recent ;  ?nd  a 
thousand  years  hence  men  will  thank  this  age  for  the  ac 
curate  history  which  it  will  eliminate." 

Stonehenge  furnished  Emerson  with  topics  for 
characteristic  reflection,  and  Carlyle  with  a  theme 
for  some  of  his  weird  utterances.  Emerson  con 
tinues  : 

"  We  walked  in  and  out,  and  took  again  and  again  a 
fresh  look  at  the  uncaring  stones.  The  old  Sphinx  put 
our  petty  differences  of  nationality  out  of  sight.  To 
these  conscious  stones  we  two  pilgrims  were  alike  near 
and  dear.  We  could  equally  well  revere  their  old  British 
meaning.  Carlyle  was  subdued  and  gentle.  'In  this 
great  House  of  Destiny,'  he  said,  'I  plant  cypresses 
wherever  I  go ;  and,  if  I  am  in  search  of  pain,  I  cannot 
go  wrong.'  The  spot,  the  gray  blocks,  and  their  rude 
order,  which  refuses  to  be  disposed  of,  suggested  to  him 
the  flight  of  ages  and  the  succession  of  religions.  The 


VISITS  TO  EUROPE.  67 

old  times  of  England  impress  him  much.  He  reads  but 
little,  he  says,  in  these  last  years,  but  the  '  Acta  Sancto 
rum,'  the  fifty-two  volumes  of  which  are  in  the  London 
Library.  He  can  see,  as  he  reads,  the  old  Saint  of  lona, 
sitting  there  and  writing — a  man  to  men.  '  The  "  Acta 
Sanctorum  "  shows  plainly  that  the  men  of  those  times 
believed  in  God  and  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  as 
their  abbeys  and  cathedrals  testify.  Now,  even  Puritan 
ism  is  gone.  London  is  Pagan.'  He  fancied  that  greater 
men  had  lived  in  England  than  any  of  her  writers  ;  and, 
in  fact,  about  the  time  when  those  writers  appeared,  the 
last  of  these  great  men  had  gone." 

We  suppose  that  Carlyle  would  have  named 
William  of  Wykeham  as  about  the  last  of  those 
great  men  who  appeared  in  England  about  the 
time  of  Chaucer.  During  this  whole  trip  Carlyle 
was  in  his  most  genial  mood.  There  is  hardly  a 
trace  of  his  almost  chronic  cynicism.  Emerson 
gives  a  few  characteristic  incidents  which  oc 
curred.  At  Salisbury  Cathedral  they  loitered  out 
side  the  choir  while  the  service  was  going  on  ;  they 
listened  to  the  organ,  and  Carlyle  remarked : 
"  The  music  is  good  ;  but  somewhat  as  if  a  monk 
were  panting  to  some  fine  Queen  of  Heaven." 
Near  Winchester  they  stopped  at  the  quaint  old 
Church  of  St.  Cross,  and  demanded  a  piece  of 
bread  and  a  draught  of  beer,  which  Henry  de 
Blois,  who  founded  the  church  in  1136,  ordered 
should  be  given  to  every  one  who  should  ask  for 
it  at  the  gate.  This  was  doled  out  to  them  by 
the  old  couple  who  take  care  of  the  church.  Some 


03  EMERSON. 

twenty  people  a  day,  they  said,  made  the  same 
demand.  "This  hospitality  of  seven  hundred 
years'  standing  did  not  hinder  Carlyle  from  pro 
nouncing  a  malediction  on  the  priest  who  receives 
two  thousand  pounds  a  year  that  were  meant  for 
the  poor,  and  spends  a  pittance  on  this  small  beer 
and  crumbs."  They  went  to  Winchester  Cathe 
dral,  the  largest  in  the  country,  the  length  of  the 
nave  being  556  feet,  and  the  breadth  of  the  tran 
sept  250  feet,  and  which  Emerson  preferred  to  any 
church  which  he  had  seen  in  England  except 
Westminster  and  York.  Here  Canute  was  buried  ; 
here  Alfred  the  Great  was  crowned  and  buried ; 
here  the  Saxon  kings  were  buried  ;  and  here,  also, 
in  his  own  church,  was  buried  the  great  Bishop 
William  of  Wykeham.  "  William  of  Wykeham's 
shrine-tomb  was  unlocked  for  us,"  says  Emerson, 
and  Carlyle  took  hold  of  the  marble  hands  of  the 
recumbent  statue  and  patted  them  affectionately ; 
for  he  values  the  brave  man  who  built  Windsor, 
this  cathedral,  and  the  school  here,  and  New  Col 
lege  at  Oxford." 

Once  again,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty  years,  Em 
erson  made  a  third  visit  to  England,  where  he 
must  have  had  some  solemn  interviews  with  Car 
lyle,  now  verging  upon  fourscore,  bent  and  in 
firm,  his  life's  work  altogether  done,  and  looking 
wearily  for  the  impending  end  of  all  earthly 
things.  But  of  these  interviews  we  have  no 
record. 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES.  6g 

V. 

LECTURES  AOT  ADDRESSES. 

AFTER  an  absence  of  nearly  a  year,  Emerson 
returned  to  America,  late  in  1833,  with  health 
restored  and  spirits  reinvigorated.     The  system  of 
popular  lectures,  somewhat  pedantically  denomi 
nated  the  "Lyceum,"  had  begun  to  develop  itself. 
It  gave  scope  for  any  one  to  discourse  upon  any 
topic  respecting  which  he  had,  or  thought  he  had, 
anything  to  say.     Emerson  at  once  availed  him 
self  of  the  opening.     His  first  lecture,  delivered 
before  the   Boston   Mechanics'  Association,  was 
upon  "Water";  then  followed  three  others  de 
scribing  his  recent  visit  to  Italy,  and  another  upon 
the  "Relations  of  Man  to  the  Globe."    In  1834 
he  delivered  a  series  of  five  lectures  upon  Michel 
Angelo,  Milton,  Luther,  George  Fox,  and  Ed 
mund  Burke,  the  first  two  of  which  were  pub 
lished  in  the  "North  American  Review,"  and  ap 
pear  to  have  been  his  first  appearances  in  print. 

In  1835  he  married  Lidian  Jackson,  of  Plym 
outh,  and  took  up  his  residence  in  the  quiet  lit 
tle  village  of  Concord,  twenty  miles  from  Bos 
ton,  where  his  home  has  been  ever  since.  From 
this  period  he  fairly  devoted  himself  to  the  new 
career  of  a  lecturer,  delivering  from  time  to  time 
courses  in  all  the  principal  places  from  Maine  to 
California.  For  forty  successive  years  he  lectured 


70  EMERSON. 

before  the  Lyceum  at  Salem,  Massachusetts.  His 
principal  courses  are  these  :  In  1835,  ten  lectures 
upon  "English  History";  in  1836,  twelve  upon 
"  The  Philosophy  of  History  "  ;  in  1837,  ten  upon 
" Human  Culture"  ;  in  1838,  ten  upon  "Human 
Life";  in  1839,  ten  upon  "The  Present  Age"; 
in  1841,  seven  upon  "The  Times."  Many  of 
these  were  frequently  redelivered.  Besides  these 
are  several  others,  the  gist  of  which  is  embodied 
in  his  printed  works. 

His  first  book  was  "Nature,"  a  thin  volume 
which  appeared  in  1836,  of  which  more  will  be 
said  hereafter.  In  the  mean  while  there  had  been 
gradually  gathering  in  Boston  and  its  vicinity  a 
small  group  of  thinkers  who  had  come  to  be  dis 
satisfied  with  the  prevalent  material  and  formal 
modes  of  thought,  and  sought  to  introduce  some 
thing  fresh.  Small  as  this  circle  was,  it  included 
persons  of  almost  every  shade  of  thought  and  cul 
ture.  Some  were  profoundly  mystical ;  some  were 
full  of  projects  of  practical  effort ;  but  they  were 
popularly  grouped  together  under  the  vague  name 
of  Transcendentalists.  Among  these  persons  were 
Ealph  Waldo  Emerson,  Margaret  Fuller,  William 
H.  Channing,  Theodore  Parker,  Henry  D.  Tho- 
reau,  George  Ripley,  and  Charles  A.  Dana. 

In  1840  these  set  up  a  quarterly  magazine  en 
titled  "  The  Dial,"  which  was  continued  for  four 
years,  Margaret  Fuller  being  editor  during  the 
first  two  years,  and  Emerson  during  the  last  two. 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES.  71 

Upon  the  whole,  "The  Dial"  deserved  to  be  a 
failure,  although  from  its  pages  might  be  collect 
ed  a  goodly  volume  of  prose  and  verse  worthy  of 
preservation  in  permanent  shape.  From  the  first 
Emerson  contributed  largely  to  "  The  Dial,"  both 
in  prose  and  verse  ;  sometimes  anonymously  and 
sometimes  over  his  own  signature.  Many  of  these 
contributions  have  been  brought  together  by  him 
self  in  his  collected  works. 

Most  of  the  prose  papers  had  been  recently 
delivered  as  addresses  before  college  societies  and 
literary  associations.  They  are  all  quite  above  the 
ordinary  run  of  such  productions,  being  thought 
ful  and  marked  by  the  strong  individuality  of 
the  man.  One  of  them,  an  "Address  to  the 
Senior  Class  in  Divinity  College,  Cambridge," 
delivered  on  Sunday  evening,  July  15,  183$,  is 
notable  in  many  ways.  Of  this  address,  Theo 
dore  Parker,  then  fresh  in  the  ministry,  writes 
to  various  correspondents.  To  one  he  says  : 

"  In  this  Emerson  surpassed  himself  as  much  as  he 
surpasses  others  in  a  general  way.  I  shall  give  no  ab 
stract,  so  beautiful,  so  just,  and  terribly  sublime  was  his 
picture  of  the  Church  in  its  present  condition.  My  soul 
is  roused ;  and  this  week  I  shall  write  the  long-meditated 
sermon  on  the  state  of  the  Church  and  the  status  of  the 
times." 

To  another,  Parker  writes  : 

"  It  was  the  noblest  of  all  his  performances.  A  little 
exaggerated,  with  some  philosophical  untruths,  it  seemed 


72  EMERSON. 

to  me ;  but  the  noblest,  the  most  inspiring  strain,  I  ever 
listened  to.  It  caused  a  great  outcry ;  one  shouting, 
'  The  Philistines  be  upon  us ! '  another,  '  We  be  all  dead 
men !  '  while  the  majority  called  out,  '  Atheism ! '  The 
Dean  said,  '  That  part  of  it  which  was  not  folly  was 
downright  atheism.'  .  .  .  Some  seem  to  think  that  the 
Christianity  which  has  stood  some  storms  will  not  be 
able  to  weather  this  gale  ;  and  that  truth,  after  all  my 
Lord  Bacon  has  said,  will  have  to  give  it  up  now.  For 
my  part,  I  see  the  sun  still  shines,  the  rain  rains,  and  the 
dogs  bark ;  and  I  have  great  doubts  whether  Emerson 
will  overthrow  Christianity  this  time." 

And  again : 

"  The  other  day  we  discussed  the  question,  in  the 
Association,  whether  Emerson  was  a  Christian.  One 
said  he  was  not ;  another  maintained  that  he  was  an 
atheist ;  but  nobody  doubted  that  he  was  a  virtuous,  de 
vout  man — one  who  would  enter  heaven  when  they 
were  shut  out.  Of  course,  they  were  in  a  queer  predica 
ment.  Either  they  must  acknowledge  that  a  man  may 
be  virtuous,  and  yet  no  Christian  (which  most  of  them 
thought  a  great  heresy  to  suppose) ;  and  religious,  yet 
an  atheist  (which  is  a  contradiction — to  be  without  God, 
and  yet  united  with  God)  ;  or  else  affirm  that  Emerson 
was  not  virtuous  nor  religious — which  they  could  not 
prove.  Others  thought  he  should  be  called  a  Christian, 
if  he  desired  the  name." 

THE   DIVINITY    COLLEGE   ADDRESS. 

The  position  offered  to  and  accepted  by  Emer 
son  was,  indeed,  a  peculiar  one  for  a  conscien 
tious  man  to  assume.  Upon  such  occasions,  it  is 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES.  73 

taken  for  granted  that  the  speaker  is  in  the  main 
in  accord  with  his  hearers  ;  or,  at  least,  if  he  dif 
fers  from  them  upon  any  important  points,  those 
points  shall  be  kept  in  abeyance.  Here  was  a 
man  who  had  not  yet  reached  middle  life,  who  had 
deliberately  set  aside  much  that  was  held  vital  to 
the  exercise  of  the  Christian  ministry,  and  who 
had  yet  by  formal  request  to  speak  upon  the  duties 
of  that  ministry  to  young  men  who  were  on  the 
point  of  entering  upon  that  career  which  he  could 
no  longer  tread.  From  the  very  constitution  of 
his  nature  he  must,  upon  such  an  occasion,  speak 
from  his  very  heart  of  hearts.  It  was  for  him  no 
time  for  commonplace  generalities.  Quite  pos 
sibly,  he  thought  that  the  things  which  he  had 
come  to  hold  as  true  had  come  to  have  lodgment 
in  the  minds  of  these  divinity  students.  At  all 
events,  if  he  had  any  misgivings,  he  betrayed  no 
token  of  their  existence.  He  spoke  as  though  he 
were  a  seer  and  prophet,  whose  utterances  needed 
no  external  authority  to  enforce  their  validity, 
but  needed  only  to  be  heard  to  be  accepted.  They 
were  chapters  of  that  Divine  Law,  not  engraved 
upon  tables  of  stone,  or  written  down  upon  parch 
ment,  in  human  speech,  but  inwrought  into  the 
very  constitution  of  our  nature.  For  ourselves, 
we  see  nothing  in  this  address  which  looks  at  all 
like  Atheism  or  Pantheism.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  full  of  Theism  and  Monotheism,  expressed  in 
terms  far  more  explicit  than  he  would  have  been 


74  EMERSON. 

likely  to  use  a  few  years  later,  when  his  ideas, 
or  at  least  his  forms  of  expressing  them,  had 
come  to  be  more  or  less  influenced  by  Hindoo 
theosophy. 

The  opening  passages  are  calm  and  quiet,  as 
though  they  had  been  inspired  by  that  summer 
Sabbath  day  whose  sun  had  just  set.  After 
speaking  of  the  perception  of  beauty  and  perfec 
tion  awakened  in  us  by  the  observation  of  the 
laws  of  the  physical  universe,  he  passes  to  the 
consideration  of  the  higher  laws  of  moral  beauty. 

THE    SENTIMENT    OF    VIETDE. 

"A  more  sweet  and  overpowering  beauty  appears  to 
man  when  his  heart  opens  to  the  sentiment  of  Virtue. 
Then  he  is  instructed  in  what  is  above  him.  He  learns 
that  his  being  is  without  bound;  that  to  the  good,  the 
perfect,  he  is  born — low  as  he  now  lies  in  evil  and  weak 
ness.  That  which  he  venerates  is  still  his  own,  though 
he  has  not  realized  it  yet.  He  ought — he  knows  the 
sense  of  that  grand  word,  though  his  analysis  fails  to 
render  account  of  it.  When,  in  innocency,  or  when  by 
intellectual  perception,  he  attains  to  say,  'I  love  the 
Eight ;  Truth  is  beautiful  within  and  without  for  ever 
more.  Virtue,  I  am  thine ;  save  me ;  use  me ;  thee  will  I 
serve  day  and  night,  in  great,  in  small,  that  I  may  not  he 
virtuous,  but  Virtue  ' — then  is  the  end  of  the  Creator 
answered,  and  God  is  well  pleased. 

"  The  sentiment  of  Virtue  is  a  reverence  and  delight 
in  the  presence  of  certain  divine  laws.  It  perceives  that 
this  homely  game  of  life  we  play  covers,  under  what 
seem  foolish  details,  principles  that  astonish.  These  laws 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES.  75 

refuse  to  be  adequately  stated.  They  will  not  be  written 
out  on  paper  or  spoken  by  the  tongue.  They  elude  our 
persevering  thought ;  yet  we  read  them  hourly  in  each 
other's  faces,  in  each  other's  actions,  in  our  own  remorse. 
This  sentiment  is  the  essence  of  all  religion.  ...  If  a 
man  is  at  heart  just,  then,  in  so  far,  is  he  God.  The 
safety  of  God,  the  majesty  of  God,  do  enter  into  that 
mind  with  justice.  .  .  .  See,  again,  the  perfection  of  the 
law,  as  it  applies  itself  to  the  affections,  and  becomes  the 
law  of  society.  As  we  are,  so  we  associate.  The  good, 
by  affinity,  seek  the  good  ;  the  vile,  by  affinity,  seek  the 
vile.  Thus,  of  their  own  volition,  souls  proceed  into 
heaven,  into  hell." 

This  passage  is  most  likely  one  of  those  which 
the  estimable  Dean  of  the  Divinity  School  judged 
to  be  "  folly."  Knowing  the  quality  of  brain  with 
which  some  men  are  endowed,  and  how  apt  it  is 
.to  get  dried  up  in  the  process  of  the  manufacture 
of  its  possessor  into  a  doctor  of  divinity,  we  can 
comprehend  how  the  Dean  should  thus  judge  ut 
terances  like  these,  so  different  from  those  which 
he  was  wont  to  propound  to  his  pupils. 

" Atheist"  is  a  very  convenient  term  of  re 
proach  to  be  hurled  at  any  one  whose  finite  con 
ceptions  of  the  nature  and  attributes  of  the  Infin 
ite  Being  differ  from  our  own  finite  ones.  To  the 
Athenians,  Socrates  was  an  atheist  because  he  could 
not  conceive  of  Zeus  as  they  did.  In  one  or  two 
of  his  poems,  and  here  and  there  in  his  later  writ 
ings,  Emerson  speaks  with  apparent  approval  of 
the  Hindoo  theosophy,  which  represents  Brahma, 


76  EMERSON. 

"  the  Adorable,"  as  a  being  to  whom  all  things 
are  indifferent ;  who  is  himself  all  and  in  all ;  to 
whom  past  and  present,  shadow  and  sunlight, 
shame  and  fame,  the  better  and  the  worse,  are  all 
alike.  This  theosophy  he  styles  "the  best  gym 
nastics  of  the  mind."  We  are  not  fully  assured 
as  to  how  far  Emerson  really  holds  to  any  such 
view.  In  this  address  there  is  no  trace  of  any 
such  thing.  There  is  certainly  nothing  that  looks 
like  atheism  ;  but  much  to  the  direct  contrary — 
as  in  this  passage,  which  follows  immediately  the 
one  last  cited  : 

THE    ONE    SUPREME   BEING. 

"  These  facts  have  always  suggested  to  man  the  sub 
lime  creed  that  the  world  is  not  the  product  of  manifold 
power,  but  of  one  Will,  of  one  Mind ;  and  that  one  Mind 
is  everywhere  active,  in  each  ray  of  the  star,  in  each 
wavelet  of  the  pool ;  and  whatever  opposes  that  Will  is* 
everywhere  balked  and  baffled,  because  things  are  as 
they  are  and  not  otherwise.  Good  is  positive.  Evil  is 
merely  privative,  not  absolute ;  it  is  like  cold,  which  is 
the  privation  of  heat.  Benevolence  is  absolute  and  real. 
So  much  benevolence  as  a  man  hath,  so  much  life  has  he. 
For  all  things  proceed  out  of  this  same  Spirit,  which  is 
differently  named  Love,  Justice,  Temperance,  in  its  dif 
ferent  applications,  just  as  the  ocean  receives  different 
names  on  the  several  shores  which  it  washes.  All 
things  proceed  out  of  the  same  Spirit,  and  all  things 
conspire  with  it." 

It  is  hard  to  conceive  how  this  teaching  differs 
essentially  from  the  most  orthodox  conception  of 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES.  77 

a  universal  Providence  which  has  directed  the 
creation  of  all  things,  and  presides  over  and  con 
trols  all  things — those  which  to  a  finite  mind  seem 
the  smallest,  as  well  as  those  which  seem  the  great 
est  ;  and  that  Providence  is  only  one  name  for  the 
actual  manifestation  of  the  will  of  the  one  Mind, 
the  one  Infinite  Being.  People,  if  they  choose, 
may  designate  Emerson's  mode  of  presentation  as 
Pantheism.  He  has  been  styled  a  Pantheist,  and 
has  never  taken  special  pains  to  disown  the  appel 
lation.  We  can  understand  how  Trinitarians 
could  consistently  set  aside  any  claim  made  by  or 
for  Emerson  to  be  recognized  as  a  Christian.  In 
their  view,  the  belief  that  Christ,  the  Son,  is  God 
— "very  God  of  very  God" — is  a  fundamental 
article  of  the  Christian  creed  ;  and  whosoever  did 
not  hold  to  that  could  not  properly  be  called  a 
Christian,  whatever  else  he  might  be.  But  we 
fail  to  see  how  such  could  be  the  case  with  any 
member  of  the  Middlesex  Unitarian  Association. 
Emerson  speaks  of  Jesus,  from  their  own  avowed 
standpoint,  not  merely  as  a  man  sent  from  God, 
as  John  the  Baptist  and  many  another  was,  but 
emphatically  as  the  man  sent  of  God.  As  thus  : 

THE   MAN   JESTJS. 

"Jesus  Christ  belonged  to  the  true  race  of  the  proph 
ets.  He  saw  with  open  eye  the  mystery  of  the  soul. 
Drawn  by  its  serene  harmony,  ravished  by  its  beauty, 
he  lived  in  it,  and  had  his  being  there.  Alone  of  all 
humanity,  he  estimated  the  greatness  of  man.  He  saw 


78  EMERSON. 

that  God  incarnates  himself  in  man,  and  evermore  goeth 
forth  to  take  possession  of  his  world.  He  said,  in  the 
jubilee  of  this  sublime  emotion,  '  1  am  divine.  Through 
me  God  acts;  through  me,  speaks.  "Would  you  see 
God,  see  me,  or  see  thee  when  thou  thinkest  as  I  now 
think.'  ...  He  felt  respect  for  the  prophets;  but  no 
unfit  tenderness  to  postponing  their  initial  revelations  to 
the  hour  and  the  man  that  now  is :  to  the  eternal  revela 
tion  in  the  heart.  Thus  was  he  a  true  man.  Having 
seen  that  the  Law  in  us  is  commanding,  he  would  not 
suffer  it  to  be  commanded.  Boldly,  with  hand  and 
heart  and  life,  he  declared  it  was  God.  Thus  is  he,  as  I 
think,  the  only  soul  in  history  who  has  appreciated  the 
worth  of  a  man." 

Mr.  Emerson  has  some  sharp  things  to  say 
against  the  prevailing  idea  of  the  Christian  world 
in  regard  to  the  character  of  Jesus.  This  was  to 
have  been  expected  from  him  when  speaking  to  a 
company  of  prospective  preachers,  who  by  their 
denominational  affiliations  were  pledged  to  a  very 
different  view.  He  then  proceeds  to  those  pas 
sages  which,  we  suppose,  were  the  ones  which 
Theodore  Parker  pronounced  to  be  so  terribly 
sublime,  setting  forth  the  faults  of  the  Church  in 
its  present  condition  ;  closing  with  what  was  the 
ultimate  theme  of  the  address,  that  for  which 
mainly  it  was  meditated.  This  is  preaching,  and 
the  office  of  the  preacher,  in  the  present  age. 

THE    OFFICE    OF    THE    PEEACHER. 

"  This  office  is  coeval  with  the  world.  But  observe  the 
conditions,  the  spiritual  limitations,  of  the  office.  The 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES.  79 

spirit  only  can  teach.  Not  any  profane  man,  not  any 
sensual,  not  any  liar,  not  any  slave;  but  only  he  can 
give  who  has.  The  man  on  whom  the  soul  descends, 
througli  whom  the  soul  speaks,  alone  can  teach.  Cour 
age,  piety,  love,  wisdom,  can  teach  ;  and  every  man  can 
open  his  door  to  these  angels,  and  they  shall  bring  him 
the  gift  of  tongues.  But  the  man  who  aims  to  speak  as 
books  enable,  as  synods  use,  as  fashion  guides,  as  interest 
commands,  babbles.  Let  him  hush. 

"  To  this  holy  office  you  propose  to  devote  yourselves. 
I  wish  you  may  feel  your  call  in  the  throbs  of  desire  and 
hope.  The  office  is  the  first  in  the  world.  It  is  of  that 
reality  that  it  can  not  suffer  the  deduction  of  any  false 
hood.  And  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you  that  the  need 
was  never  greater  of  a  new  revelation  than  now.  From 
the  views  I  have  already  expressed  you  will  infer  the 
sad  conviction  which  I  share,  I  believe,  with  numbers,  of 
the  universal  decay  and  almost  universal  death  of  faith 
in  society.  The  Soul  is  not  preached.  The  Church  seems 
to  totter  to  its  fall,  almost  all  life  extinct.  On  this  occa 
sion  any  complaisance  would  be  criminal  which  told  you, 
whose  hope  and  commission  it  is  to  preach  the  faith  of 
Christ,  that  the  faith  of  Christ  is  preached." 

FORMALITY    IN    PREACHING. 

"It  is  time  that  this  ill-suppressed  murmur  of  all 
thoughtful  men  against  the  famine  of  our  churches — this 
moaning  of  the  heart  because  it  is  bereaved  of  the  con 
solations  of  hope,  the  grandeur  that  comes  alone  out  of 
the  culture  of  the  moral  nature,  should  be  heard  through 
the  sleep  of  indolence,  and  over  the  din  of  routine.  This 
great  and  perpetual  office  of  the  preacher  is  not  dis 
charged.  Preaching  is  the  expression  of  moral  senti- 


80  EMERSON. 

ment  in  application  to  the  duties  of  life.  In  how  many 
churches,  by  how  many  prophets,  tell  me,  is  man  made 
sensible  that  he  is  a  living  soul?  Where  shall  I  hear 
words  such  as  in  elder  ages  drew  men  to  leave  all  and 
follow— leave  father  and  mother,  house  and  land,  wife 
and  child?  Where  shall  I  hear  those  august  laws  of 
moral  being  so  pronounced  as  to  fill  my  ear,  and  I  feel 
ennobled  by  the  offer  of  my  uttermost  action  and  pas 
sion? 

"  Wherever  the  pulpit  is  usurped  by  a  formalist,  there 
is  the  worshiper  defrauded  and  disconsolate.  We  shrink 
as  soon  as  the  prayers  begin  which  do  not  uplift,  but 
smite  and  offend  us.  We  are  fain  to  wrap  our  cloaks 
around  us,  and  secure  as  best  we  can  a  solitude  that 
hears  not. 

"  I  once  heard  a  preacher  who  sorely  tempted  me  to 
say  I  would  go  to  church  no  more.  A  snowstorm  was 
falling  around  us.  The  snow  was  real,  the  preacher 
merely  spectral ;  and  the  eye  felt  the  sad  contrast  in 
looking  at  him,  and  then  out  of  the  window  behind  him 
into  the  beautiful  meteor  of  the  snow.  lie  had  lived  in 
vain.  He  had  not  one  word  intimating  that  he  had 
laughed  or  wept,  was  married  or  in  love,  had  been  com 
mended  or  cheated.  If  he  had  ever  lived  or  acted,  we 
were  none  the  wiser  for  it.  The  capital  secret  of  his 
profession,  namely,  to  convert  life  into  truth,  he  had  not 
learned.  Not  one  fact  in  all  his  experience  had  he  con 
verted  into  doctrine.  The  true  preacher  can  be  known 
by  this,  that  he  deals  out  to  his  people  his  life— life 
passed  through  the  fire  of  thought." 

There  are  in  this  connection  some  passages 
which  read  as  though  they  might  have  been  writ- 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES.  81 

ten  by  Oarlyle  ;  not  from  their  form  of  expression, 
but  from  the  sad  pessimist  tone  of  thought.     As 


DECAY     OF    FAITH. 

"  Certainly,  there  have  been  periods  when  a  greater 
faith  was  possible.  The  Puritans  in  England  and  America 
found  in  the  Christ  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  in  the 
dogmas  inherited  from  Kome,  scope  for  their  austere 
piety,  and  their  longings  for  civil  freedom.  But  their 
creed  is  passing  away,  and  none  comes  in  its  room.  I 
think  no  man  can  go  into  one  of  our  churches  without 
feeling  that  what  hold  the  public  worship  had  on  men  is 
gone  or  going.  It  has  lost  its  grasp  on  the  affection  of 
the  good,  and  on  the  fear  of  the  bad.  It  is  already  be 
ginning  to  indicate  character  and  religion  to  withdraw 
from  the  religious  meetings.  I  have  heard  a  devout  per 
son,  who  prized  the  Sabbath,  say  in  bitterness  of  heart, 
*  On  Sundays  it  seems  wicked  to  go  to  church.'  And  the 
motive  that  holds  the  best  there  is  now  only  a  hope  and 
a  waiting.  And  what  greater  calamity  can  fall  upon  a 
nation  than  the  loss  of  worship?  Then  all  things  go  to 
decay.  Genius  leaves  the  temple,  to  haunt  the  senate  or 
the  market.  Literature  becomes  frivolous.  Science  is 
cold.  The  eye  of  youth  is  not  lighted  by  the  hope  of 
other  worlds,  and  age  is  without  honor.  Society  lives 
to  trifles,  and,  when  men  die,  we  do  not  mention  them." 

Yet  Emerson  does  not  believe  that  this  dark 
state  of  things  is  to  be  perpetual.  In  the  future, 
nay  in  the  near  present,  a  remedy  will  be  found. 
And  this  remedy,  he  thinks,  will  be  found  with 
in  the  Church  itself  ;  a  church  reformed,  not  in 
6 


82  EMERSON. 

external  rites  and  ordinances — not  perhaps  large 
ly  even  in  creeds — but  by  having  breathed  into  it 
the  breath  of  a  new  life,  and  that  through  the 
voice  of  the  living  preacher.  And  to  this  high 
function  he  earnestly  exhorts  the  young  aspirants 
to  the  sacred  office  : 

THE    COMINO   CHURCH. 

"And  now  let  us  do  what  we  can  to  rekindle  the 
smoldering  wellnigh  quenched  fire  on  the  altar.  The 
evils  of  the  Church  that  now  is  are  manifest.  The  ques 
tion  returns,  '  What  shall  we  do  ? '  I  confess  that  all 
attempts  to  project  and  establish  a  cultus  with  new  rites 
and  forms  seem  to  me  vain.  Faith  makes  us,  and  not 
we  it,  and  Faith  makes  its  own  forms.  All  attempts  to 
construct  a  system  are  as  cold  as  the  new  worship  intro 
duced  by  the  French  to  the  Goddess  of  Reason.  Rather 
let  the  breath  of  new  life  be  breathed  by  you  through 
the  forms  already  existing,  for,  if  once  you  are  alive,  you 
shall  find  that  they  shall  become  plastic  and  new.  A 
whole  popedom  of  forms  one  pulsation  of  virtue  can  up 
lift  and  vivify/' 

THE  SABBATH  AND  PREACHING. 

"  Two  inestimable  advantages  Christianity  has  given 
us :  First,  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath — the  jubilee  of 
the  whole  world — whose  light  dawns  welcome  alike  into 
the  dark  closet  of  the  philosopher,  into  the  garret  of  toil, 
and  into  prison  cells,  and  everywhere  suggests,  even  to 
the  vile,  the  dignity  of  spiritual  being.  Let  it  stand  for 
evermore,  a  temple  which  new  love,  new  faith,  new 
sight,  shall  restore  to  more  than  its  first  splendor  to  man 
kind.  And,  secondly,  to  the  institution  of  preaching— 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES.  83 

the  speech  of  man  to  man — essentially  the  most  flexible 
of  forms.  What  hinders  that  now,  everywhere,  in  pul 
pits,  in  lecture-rooms,  in  houses,  in  fields — wherever  the 
invitation  of  men  or  your  own  occasions  lead  you,  you 
speak  the  very  truth,  as  your  life  and  conscience  lead 
you — you  speak  the  very  truth  as  your  life  and  con 
science  teach  it,  and  cheer  the  waiting,  fainting  hearts  of 
men  with  new  hope  and  new  revelation  ?  " 

The  address  closes  in  a  strain  prophetically 
hopeful  : 

THE    COMING   TEACHER. 

"  I  look  for  the  hour  when  that  supreme  beauty 
which  ravished  the  souls  of  those  Eastern  men — and 
chiefly  of  those  Hebrews — and  through  their  lips  spoke 
oracles  to  all  time,  shall  speak  in  the  West  also.  The 
Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures  contain  immortal  sen 
tences  that  have  been  the  bread  of  life  to  millions.  But 
they  have  no  special  integrity  ;  are  fragmentary ;  are  not 
shown  in  their  order  to  the  intellect.  I  look  for  a 
Teacher  that  shall  follow  so  far  these  shining  laws,  that 
he  shall  see  them  come  full  circle ;  shall  see  the  World 
to  be  the  mirror  of  the  Soul ;  shall  see  the  identity  of 
the  law  of  gravitation  with  purity  of  heart ;  and  shall 
show  that  the  Ought,  that  Duty,  is  one  thing  with  Beau 
ty,  with  Science,  with  Joy." 

More  than  forty  years  have  passed  since  these 
brave  words  were  uttered.  Most  of  those  upon 
whose  ears  they  fell  have  passed  away  from  the 
here  to  the  hereafter.  The  ardent  young  man  who 
spoke  them  is  now  verging  upon  fourscore  ;  his 
life-work — whatever  it  was  ordained  to  be — is 


84  EMERSON. 

done.  His  lofty  anticipations  have  not  been  re 
alized.  No  Teacher  like  the  one  for  whom  he 
looked,  who  should  follow  the  shining  laws  of 
the  universe  beyond  the  point  visible  in  the  He 
brew  and  Greek  Scriptures — follow  them  until 
he  should  see  them  come  full  circle — has  appeared 
to  Emerson.  For  such  a  Teacher  we  look  in  vain 
to  him.  He  has  seen  but  a  few  points  of  that 
mighty  circle  whose  infinite  center  is  the  will  of 
the  Eternal  Mind,  whose  radii  are  the  immensities, 
and  whose  circumference  holds  the  universe  ;  or, 
as  one  of  old  phrased  it,  "  whose  center  is  every 
where,  and  whose  circumference  is  nowhere." 
Of  Emerson  we  must  say,  what  he  said  of  the 
Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures  :  ((  His  utterances 
have  no  special  integrity,  and  are  not  shown  in 
their  order  to  the  intellect."  Perhaps  he  himself 
came  to  a  conclusion  not  unlike  this  ;  for,  in  one 
of  his  later  works,  he  says  :  "Every  surmise  and 
vaticination  of  the  mind  is  entitled  to  a  certain 
respect.  A  wise  writer  will  feel  that  the  ends  of 
study  and  composition  are  best  answered  by  an 
nouncing  undiscovered  regions  of  thought,  and  so 
communicating,  through  hope,  new  activity  to 
the  torpid  spirit."  This,  indeed,  Emerson  has 
done  ;  and  his  undigested  theories  may  well,  to 
use  his  own  phrase,  "  be  preferred  to  digested 
systems  which  have  no  one  valuable  suggestion." 


CRITICAL  AND  BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  85 

VI. 

CRITICAL  AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL. 

EMERSON'S  whole  mature  life  has  been  that  of 
a  Thinker  and  a  Teacher.  For  the  utterance  of 
his  thoughts  he  has  found  two  mediums  :  oral 
discourse  and  written  books.  It  is  with  the  latter 
that  we  shall  have  to  do ;  for  the  mere  spoken 
word  dies  almost  as  soon  as  it  has  been  uttered, 
unless  it  has  such  vitality  as  to  enter  into  the 
life  of  some  auditor,  or  has  so  sunk  into  his  mem 
ory  that,  perhaps,  years  after,  he  is  enabled  to 
write  out  at  least  the  substance  of  it,  and  so 
the  discourse  becomes  substantially  permanent. 
Such  is  the  case  with  some  of  the  discourses  of 
Socrates,  as  preserved  by  Plato.  Such  is  the  case 
with  a  few  of  the  discourses  of  Jesus.  Some  of 
these — as  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  as  recorded 
by  Matthew,  the  last  discourse  to  the  disciples  on 
Passover-eve,  as  recorded  by  John,  and  many  of 
the  parables — seem  to  be  full  reports,  giving  the 
very  words  of  our  Saviour.  Oral  discourse  has 
one  advantage  over  that  which  is  written  :  if  a 
man  speaks  from  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  the  in 
teraction  between  speaker  and  auditors  gives  a 
new  life  to  the  words.  The  flashing  eye,  the 
impassioned  utterance,  the  spontaneous  action, 
impart  a  force  to  thoughts  and  words  which, 
when  read,  move  us  but  little. 


86  EMERSON. 

The  sermons  of  Whitefield  or  the  orations  of 
Edward  Irving,  when  read,  seem  cold,  and  hardly 
worth  printing  ;  but  when  delivered  they  thrilled 
the  hearts  of  thousands.  Of  Emerson's  Lectures, 
we  know  that  they  took  strong  hold  upon  those 
who  heard  them ;  but,  as  a  whole,  he  has  never 
thought  them  adapted  for  publication.  They 
were  clearly  designed  to  be  heard,  not  to  be  read. 
Perhaps  the  best  parts  of  them  have  been  substan 
tially  embodied  in  his  books.  Sometimes  he  seems 
to  have  condensed  a  lecture,  or  a  number  of  lec 
tures,  into  an  essay  or  a  chapter  ;  sometimes  to 
have  expanded  a  chapter  into  a  lecture.  But  the 
written  book  possesses  this  great  advantage  over 
the  spoken  word  :  it  preserves  the  very  thought 
of  the  author,  and  in  the  very  form  in  which  he 
wished  to  express  it.  And  if  the  book  comes  to 
be  printed — as  most  books  worthy  of  preservation 
do,  sooner  or  later — it  remains  a  possession  for 
evermore.  A  good  book  is  the  most  imperishable 
of  all  man's  works.  Herodotus  will  live  when  the 
Pyramids  shall  have  crumbled  into  dust.  Thu- 
cydides  has  outlived  the  Parthenon.  Shakespeare 
and  Milton  will  be  as  fresh  as  they  are  to-day 
when  London  shall  have  come  to  be  what  Mem 
phis  is.  Some  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  have 
outlived  more  than  three  millenniums,  and  all  the 
kingdoms  and  empires  which  have  grown  up  and 
fallen  into  decay  ;  and  they  and  the  New  Testa 
ment  Scriptures  can  never  cease  to  sway  man's 


CRITICAL   AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  87 

heart  so  long  as  man  shall  exist  here  or  in  the 
hereafter.  Many  good  books  have,  indeed,  been 
apparently  lost  to  after-ages.  Some  of  these  have 
been  from  time  to  time  recovered.  The  manu 
scripts  had  been  stored  away  in  closets,  piled  over 
with  dusty  archives,  or  scrawled  over  with  worth 
less  stuff  in  palimpsests,  but  have  been  unearthed, 
cleaned  off,  and  deciphered  ;  so  that  we  now  have 
them  as  perfect  as  they  were  when  they  came 
from  the  hands  of  their  authors.  The  process  of 
discovery  is  still  going  on  ;  and  it  is  by  no  means 
impossible,  not  even  perhaps  improbable,  that  the 
lost  "  Decades  "  of  Livy  and  the  missing  dramas  of 
^Eschylus  and  Sophocles  will  yet  be  brought  to 
light.  What  need  is  there  to  speak  of  the  clay- 
inscribed  tablets  and  cylinders  of  Assyria,  which, 
after  lying  utterly  unknown  beneath  heaps  of 
ruins  of  temple  and  palace  for  five-and-twenty 
long  centuries,  have,  within  our  own  generation, 
been  exhumed  and  deciphered,  shedding  a  flood 
of  light  upon  the  darkness  which  had  gathered 
over  and  around  the  history  and  legends  of  pre 
ceding  ages  ? 

Still  another  advantage  of  the  written  book 
over  oral  discourse  is  that  the  reader  can  always 
recur  to  it.  The  spoken  discourse  impresses  us 
mainly  in  the  mass.  Many  of  the  most  vital 
points  may  fail  to  strike  us  ;  or  they  may  be  mis 
understood  or  not  understood  at  all  ;  and  we 
have  no  means  of  correcting  the  errors  into  which 


88  EMERSON. 

we  shall  have  fallen.  But  we  can  go  back  to  the 
printed  volume,  can  study  it  over  and  over  again 
until  we  are  assured  that  we  understand  it,  or 
that  we  cannot  understand  it.  Let,  then,  the 
preacher  or  the  orator  commit  his  best  thoughts 
to  the  press  ;  not  that  all  or  a  tithe  of  what  he 
has  said  should  be  presented  just  as  he  spoke  it, 
but  that  the  cream  and  marrow  of  his  thoughts 
should  be  set  forth  in  their  due  order  and  in  the 
best  form  at  his  command.  This,  we  think,  has 
been  done  by  Emerson. 

Of  the  leading  characteristics  of  Emerson's 
course  of  thought  and  mode  of  expression,  we 
can  not  better  express  our  own  estimate  than  by 
citing  a  portion  of  Mr.  Whipple's  thoughtful  arti 
cle  in  Appletons'  "  Cyclopaedia  "  : 

WHIPPLE    UPON   EMERSON. 

"  As  a  writer,  Emerson  is  distinguished  for  a  singu 
lar  union  of  poetical  imagination  with  practical  acute- 
ness.  His  vision  takes  a  wide  sweep  in  the  realms  of 
the  ideal,  but  is  no  less  firm  and  penetrating  in  the 
sphere  of  facts.  -His  observations  on  society,  on  man 
ners,  on  character,  on  institutions,  are  stamped  with 
sagacity,  and  indicate  a  familiar  knowledge  of  the  homely 
phases  of  life,  which  are  seldom  viewed  in  their  poetical 
relations.  One  side  of  his  wisdom  is  worldly  wisdom. 
The  brilliant  Transcendentalist  is  evidently  a  man  not  to 
be  easily  deceived  in  matters  pertaining  to  the  ordinary 
course  of  human  affairs.  His  common-sense  shrewdness 
is  vivified  by  a  pervasive  wit.  With  him,  however,  wit 


CRITICAL  AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  89 

is  not  an  end,  but  a  means,  and  usually  employed  for  the 
detection  of  pretense  and  imposture. 

"  His  practical  understanding  is  sometimes  underrated 
from  the  fact  that  he  never  groups  his  thoughts  by  the 
methods  of  logic.  He  gives  few  reasons,  even  when  he 
is  most  reasonable.  He  does  not  prove,  but  announces, 
aiming  directly  at  the  intelligence  of  his  readers,  without 
striving  to  extract  a  reluctant  assent  by  force  of  argu 
ment.  Insight,  not  reasoning,  is  his  process.  The  bent 
of  his  mind  is  to  ideal  laws,  which  are  beyond  the  prov 
ince  of  dialectics.  Equally  conspicuous  is  his  tendency 
to  embody  ideas  in  the  forms  of  imagination.  ISTo  spir 
itual  abstraction  is  so  evanescent  but  he  thus  transforms 
it  into  a  concrete  reality.  He  seldom  indulges  in  the 
expression  of  sentiment,  and  in  his  nature  emotion  seems 
to  be  less  the  product  of  the  heart  than  of  the  brain. 

"  His  style  is  in  the  nicest  harmony  with  the  charac 
ter  of  his  thought.  It  is  condensed  almost  to  abruptness. 
Occasionally  he  purchases  compression  at  the  expense 
of  clearness,  and  his  merits  as  a  writer  consist  rather  in 
a  choice  of  words  than  in  the  connection  of  sentences, 
though  his  diction  is  vitalized  by  the  presence  of  a  pow 
erful  creative  element.  The  singular  beauty  and  intense 
life  and  significance  of  his  language  demonstrate  that  he 
not  only  has  something  to  say,  but  knows  exactly  how 
to  say  it.  Fluency,  however,  is  out  of  the  question  in  a 
style  which  combines  such  austere  economy  of  words 
with  the  determination  to  load  every  word  with  vital 
meaning. 

"  But  the  great  characteristic  of  Emerson's  intellect 
is  the  perception  and  sentiment  of  beauty.  So  strong  is 
this,  that  he  accepts  nothing  in  life  that  is  uncomely, 
haggard,  or  ghastly.  The  fact  that  an  opinion  depresses, 


90  EMERSON. 

instead  of  invigorating,  is  with  him  a  sufficient  reason 
for  its  rejection.  His  observation,  his  wit,  his  reason, 
his  imagination,  his  style,  all  obey  the  controlling  sense 
of  beauty  which  is  at  the  heart  of  his  nature,  and  in 
stinctively  avoid  the  ugly  and  the  base. 

"  Those  portions  of  Emerson's  writings  which  relate 
to  philosophy  and  religion  may  be  considered  as  frag 
mentary  contributions  to  the  *  Philosophy  of  the  Infinite.' 
He  has  no  system ;  and,  indeed,  system  in  his  mind  is 
associated  with  charlatanism.  His  largest  generalization 
is  'Existence.'  On  this  inscrutable  theme  his  concep 
tions  vary  with  his  moods  and  experience.  Sometimes 
it  seems  to  be  man  who  parts  with  his  personality  in 
being  united  to  God ;  sometimes  it  seems  to  be  God 
who  is  impersonal,  and  who  comes  to  personality  only 
in  man  ;  and  the  real  obscurity  or  vacillation  of  his  met 
aphysical  ideas  is  increased  by  the  vivid  and  positive 
concrete  forms  in  which  they  are  successively  clothed." 

Mr.  Frothingham,  in  his  "  New  England 
Transcendentalism,"  while  affirming  that  Emer 
son  cannot  be  clearly  designated  as  a  Transcen- 
dentalist,  in  the  technical  sense  of  the  term, 
styles  him  "the  Seer,"  and  under  that  title  de 
votes  to  him  an  elaborate  chapter,  from  which 
we  make  some  excerpts,  not  always  preserving 
the  order  in  which  they  were  written  : 

FROTHINGHAM   UPON    EMERSON. 

"  Emerson  has  been  called  4  the  prince  of  Transcen- 
dentalists.1  It  is  nearer  the  truth  to  call  him  the  prince 
of  Idealists.  Certainly  he  can  not  be  reckoned  a  disciple 


CRITICAL  AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  91 

of  Kant,  or  Jacobi,  or  Fichte,  or  Schelling.  He  calls  no 
man  master;  lie  receives  no  teaching  on  authority.  It 
is  not  certain  that  he  ever  made  a  study  of  the  Trans 
cendental  philosophy  in  the  works  of  its  chief  exponents. 
In  his  lecture  on  '  The  Transcendentalist,'  delivered  in 
1842,  and  embodied  by  him  in  his  collected  works,  he 
conveys  the  impression  that  it  is  Idealism,  active  and 
protesting,  an  excited  reaction  against  formalism,  against 
tradition,  and  conventionalism  in  every  sphere.  As  such, 
he  describes  it  with  great  vividness  and  beauty.  But  as 
such,  merely,  it  was  not  apprehended  by  metaphysicians 
like  James  Walker,  theologians  like  Theodore  Parker, 
or  preachers  like  William  Henry  Channing. 

"  Emerson  does  not  claim  for  the  soul  a  special  fac 
ulty,  like  faith  or  intuition,  by  which  the  truths  of  the 
spiritual  order  are  perceived,  as  objects  are  perceived  by 
the  senses.  He  contends  for  no  doctrines,  whether  of 
God,  or  the  hereafter,  or  the  moral  law,  on  the  credit 
of  such  interior  revelation.  He  neither  dogmatizes  nor 
defines.  On  the  contrary,  his  chief  anxiety  seems  to  be 
to  avoid  committing  himself  to  opinions,  to  keep  all 
questions  open,  to  close  no  avenue  in  any  direction  to 
the  free  ingress  of  the  mind.  He  gives  no  description  of 
God  that  will  class  him  as  Theist  or  Pantheist,  no  defini 
tion  of  immortality  that  justifies  his  readers  in  imputing 
to  him  any  form  of  the  popular  belief  in  regard  to  it. 
Does  he  believe  in  personal  immortality  ?  It  is  imper 
tinent  to  ask.  He  will  not  be  questioned  ;  not  because 
he  doubts,  but  because  his  beliefs  are  so  rich,  so  various 
and  many-sided,  that  he  is  unwilling,  by  laying  emphasis 
on  any  one  of  them,  to  do  an  apparent  injustice  to  the 
others. 

"  He  will  be  held  to  no  definitions ;  he  will  be  reduced 


92  EMERSON. 

to  no  final  statements.  The  mind  must  have  free  range. 
Critics  complain  of  the  tantalizing  fragmentariness  of  his 
writing ;  it  is  evidence  of  the  shyness  and  modesty  of  his 
mind.  He  dwells  in  principles,  and  will  not  be  cabined 
in  beliefs.  He  needs  the  full  expanse  of  the  Eternal 
Reason." 

While  affirming  that  "Emerson's  place  is 
among  poetic,  not  among  philosophic  minds," 
and  in  effect  that  he  has  nothing  which  can  be 
fairly  denominated  a  system,  or  the  approach  to  a 
system  of  philosophy,  Mr.  Frothingham,  in  the 
end,  attempts  to  set  forth  what  that  philosophy 
really  is.  We  do  not  attempt  to  reconcile  these 
two  ideas  respecting  Emerson,  but  simply  cite  the 
somewhat  brief  exposition  of  the  latter  one.  He 
says  : 

"  We  now  stand  at  the  center  of  Emerson's  philosophy. 
His  thoughts  are  few  and  pregnant ;  capable  of  infinite 
expansion,  illustration,  and  application.  They  crop  out 
.4.  on  almost  every  page  of  his  characteristic  writings;  are 
iterated  and  reiterated  in  every  form  of  speech,  and  put 
into  gems  of  expression  that  may  be  worn  on  any  part 
of  the  person.  His  prose  and  poetry  are  aglow  with 
them ;  they  make  his  essays  oracular,  and  his  verse  pro 
phetic.  By  virtue  of  them  his  best  books  belong  to  the 
sacred  literature  of  the  race ;  by  virtue  of  them,  but  for 
the  lack  of  artistic  finish  of  rhythm  and  rhyme,  he  would 
be  the  chief  of  American  poets." 

The  summation  of  Emerson's  beliefs  and  teach 
ings  is  brief,  and  to  us  not  altogether  satisfactory. 
It  runs  thus  : 


CRITICAL   AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  93 

"  The  first  article  in  Emerson's  faith  is  the  primacy 
of  mind.  That  mind  is  supreme,  eternal,  absolute,  one, 
subtile,  living,  immanent  in  all  things,  permanent,  flow 
ing,  self-manifesting ;  that,  the  universe  is  the  result  of 
mind ;  that  nature  is  the  symbol  of  mind ;  that  finite 
minds  live  and  act  through  concurrence  with  infinite 
mind.  His  second  article  is  the  connection  of  the  in 
dividual  mind  with  the  primal  mind,  and  its  ability  to 
draw  thence  wisdom,  will,  virtue,  prudence,  heroism — all 
active  and  passive  qualities." 

Mr.  Frothingham  proceeds  to  give  some  fur 
ther  insight  into  his  views  of  the  special  religious 
bearing  of  Emerson's  teachings.  He  says  : 

"Emerson  is  never  concerned  to  defend  himself 
against  the  charge  of  Pantheism,  or  the  warning  to  be 
ware  lest  he  unsettle  the  foundation  of  morality,  annihi 
late  the  freedom  of  the  will,  abolish  the  distinction  be 
tween  right  and  wrong,  and  reduce  personality  to  a  mask. 
He  never  explains ;  he  trusts  to  affirmations  pure  and  sim 
ple.  By  dint  of  affirming  all  the  facts  as  they  appear, 
he  makes  his  contribution  to  the  problem  of  solving  all ; 
and,  by  laying  incessant  emphasis  on  the  cardinal  virtues 
of  humility,  fidelity,  sincerity,  obedience,  aspiration,  sim 
ple  acquiescence  in  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Power,  he 
not  only  guards  himself  against  vulgar  misconception,  but 
sustains  the  mind  at  an  elevation  that  makes  the  highest 
hill-tops  of  the  accepted  morality  disappear  in  the  dead 
level  of  the  plain.  He  takes  the  primary  thoughts  of  his 
philosophy — if  such  it  may  be  termed — with  him  wher 
ever  he  goes.  Does  he  study  history,  history  is  the  auto 
biography  of  the  Eternal  Mind." 


94  EMERSON. 

The  key  to  all  this  Mr.  Frothingham  finds  in 
the  opening  sentences  of  Emerson's  essay  on  "  His 
tory." 

EMEESON   UPON   HISTOEY. 

"  There  is  one  mind  common  to  all  individual  minds. 
He  that  is  once  admitted  to  the  right  of  reason  is  made 
a  freeman  of  the  whole  estate.  What  Plato  has  thought, 
he  may  think ;  what  a  saint  has  felt,  he  may  feel ;  what 
at  any  time  has  befallen  any  man,  he  can  understand. 
Who  hath  access  to  this  universal  mind  is  a  party  to  all 
that  is  or  can  be  done ;  for  that  is  the  only  and  sover 
eign  agent.  Of  the  universal  mind  each  individual  man 
is  one  more  incarnation.  .  .  . 

"What  is  the  use  of  telegraphy?  What  of  news 
papers  ?  To  know  in  each  social  crisis  how  men  feel  in 
Kansas  or  California,  the  wise  man  waits  for  no  mails, 
reads  no  telegrams.  He  asks  his  own  heart.  If  they 
are  made  as  he  is,  if  they  breathe  the  same  air,  eat  of  the 
same  wheat,  have  wives  and  children,  he  knows  that 
their  joy  or  resentment  rises  to  the  same  point  as  his 
own.  The  inviolate  soul  is  in  perpetual  telegraphic 
communication  with  the  source  of  events ;  has  earlier  in 
formation,  a  private  dispatch,  which  relieves  him  of  the 
terror  which  presses  on  the  rest  of  the  community.  .  .  . 
We  are  always  coming  up  with  the  emphatic  facts  of  his 
tory  in  our  private  experience,  and  verifying  them  here. 
All  history  becomes  subjective.  In  other  words,  there 
is  properly  no  history — only  biography.  Every  mind 
must  know  the  whole  lesson  for  itself — must  go  over  the 
whole  ground.  What  it  does  not  see,  what  it  does  not 
live,  it  does  not  know." 

Surely  no  thoughtful  man  can  accept  this  with- 


CRITICAL  AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  95 

out  making  great  allowances  for  the  idiosyncra 
sies  of  Emerson,  and  his  ever-present  wont  of  ex 
pressing  the  varying  moods  of  his  own  mental 
experiences.  His  practical  philosophy  descends 
to  lower  nights.  We  have  no  doubt  that  in  times 
of  great  crisis  he  read  the  newspapers  and  tele 
grams  to  learn  what  men  in  Kansas  and  Califor 
nia,  in  Vermont  and  South  Carolina,  were  feel 
ing,  never  having  received  from  the  source  of 
events  any  private  dispatch  which  relieved  him 
of  the  terror  which  was  pressing  on  the  rest  of 
the  community.  His  joy  or  resentment  did  not 
rise  to  the  same  point  nor  in  the  same  direction 
as  many  of  theirs.  He  rejoiced  in  many  things 
over  which  the  people  of  Carolina  grieved,  and 
grieved  in  many  things  over  which  they  rejoiced. 
For  science,  in  the  ordinary  use  of  the  term, 
Emerson  cares  little,  and  appears  to  know  little. 
His  reading,  we  are  told,  is  very  extensive  in 
range,  but  most  especially  in  the  department  of 
the  higher  imagination.  "  He  is  at  home  with 
the  seers,  Swedenborg,  Plotinus,  Plato,  the  books 
of  the  Hindoos,  the  Greek  mythology,  Plutarch, 
Chaucer,  Shakespeare,  Henry  More,  Hafiz ;  the 
books  called  sacred  by  the  religious  world ;  and 
books  of  natural  science,  especially  those  written 
by  the  ancients,"  which  may  be  fairly  put  down  as 
to  a  great  extent  imaginative.  Oddly  enough, 
Montaigne  is  a  prime  favorite  with  him.  Upon 
this  point  Mr.  Frothingham  says  : 


93  EMERSON. 

"Emerson,  by  bis  principle,  is  delivered  from  tbe 
alarm  of  tbe  religious  man,  who  bas  a  creed  to  defend, 
and  from  tbe  defiance  of  tbe  scientific  man,  who  has 
creeds  to  assail.  For  the  scientific  method  he  professes 
no  deep  respect;  for  the  scientific  assumption  none  what 
ever.  He  begins  with  the  opposite  end.  They  start 
with  matter;  he  starts  with  mind.  They  feel  their  way 
up ;  he  feels  his  way  down.  They  observe  phenomena ; 
he  watches  thoughts.  They  fancy  themselves  to  be  grad 
ually  pushing  away  as  illusions  the  so-called  entities  of 
tbe  soul;  he  dwells  serenely  with  those  entities,  rejoic 
ing  to  see  men  paying  jubilant  honor  to  what  they  mean 
to  overturn.  Tbe  facts  they  bring  in — chemical,  physio 
logical,  biological :  Huxley's  facts,  Helmholtz's,  Darwin's, 
Tyndall's,  Spencer's,  the  ugly  facts  which  theologians 
dispute — he  accepts  with  eager  hands,  and  uses  to  de 
monstrate  the  force  and  harmony  of  the  spiritual  laws." 

All  this  seems  to  us  to  be  a  partial  and  one 
sided  view  of  Emerson's  philosophy,  which  to  us 
is  in  its  main  aspects  most  essentially  practical. 
Using  the  word  in  a  good  sense,  it  is  wholly  a 
"this  world"  philosophy.  Of  the  future  life,  as 
future,  he  takes  little  account.  He  finds  the  uni 
verse  thus  and  so.  Nature  is  what  it  is  ;  man  is 
what  he  is.  All  are  but  parts  of  one  mighty 
whole  ;  and  it  is  man's  place  to  know  nature  and 
to  put  himself  into  harmony  with  it.  In  his 
view,  the  life  that  now  is,  and  each  day  of  it,  is  a 
part  of  the  eternal  now ;  not  merely  a  prepara 
tion  for  some  unknown  future.  Youth  exists 
for  itself,  manhood  for  itself,  age  for  itself.  There 


CRITICAL   AND   BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.  07 

never  will  be  a  day  longer  than  the  one  which  is 
now  passing ;  there  will  never  be  a  moment  more 
full  of  duty  and  obligation  than  the  one  in  which 
we  are  drawing  our  present  breath.  To  be  at  this 
moment,  and  at  all  future  moments,  what  he 
ought  to  be ;  that  is,  in  other  words,  to  live  in 
perpetual  harmony  with  the  immutable  laws  of 
nature — laws  which  are,  because  they  could  not 
be  otherwise,  being  the  outgrowth  of  the  inmost 
being  of  the  Divine  Mind — this,  in*  our  view,  is 
not  only  the  central  core  but  the  sum  and  .sub 
stance  of  Emerson's  entire  philosophy,  no  matter 
in  what  varying  forms  it  may  clothe  itself,  or 
how  it  may  be  tinged  with  hues  reflected  from 
Buddha  or  Plato,  from  Swedenborg  or  Confu 
cius,  from  Zoroaster  or  Jesus.  We  shall  try  to 
elucidate  still  further  our  idea  of  the  man  and 
his  teachings  by  passing  in  review  over  his  suc 
cessive  works. 

Considering  that  an  interval  of  fully  forty 
years  elapsed  between  the  composition  of  the  ear 
liest  and  the  latest  of  Emerson's  books,  he  is  by 
no  means  a  voluminous  writer.  His  prose  works 
as  finally  collected  by  himself  are  now  issued  in 
several  shapes.  In  their  most  compact  form  they 
are  comprised  in  three  moderate  volumes,  each 
containing  about  as  much  matter  as  one  of  Dick- 
ens's  large  novels.  The  poems  would  make  an 
other  volume  somewhat  smaller.  The  prose 
works  are  here  arranged  in  the  order  of  their 
7 


98  EMERSON. 

publication,  which  is  not  always  coincident  with 
that  of  their  composition. 

"Nature"  (1836)  ;  "Miscellanies,"  consisting 
of  nine  collegiate  addresses  and  public  lectures, 
most  of  which  had  already  been  printed  in  "The 
Dial,"  and  were  in  1849  gathered  into  a  volume 
which  also  included  "  Nature  "  ;  "  Essays,"  in  two 
volumes  (1841  and  1847).  These,  revised  and 
corrected,  constitute  the  first  volume  of  his  prose 
works,  brought  together  in  1869. 

"  Eepresentative  Men"  (1850),  "English 
Traits"  (1856),  "Conduct  of  Life"  (1860). 
These  constitute  the  second  volume  of  his  prose 
works,  brought  together  in  1869. 

"Society  and  Solitude"  (1870),  "Letters  and 
Social  Aims"  (1875).  These,  with  the  addi 
tion  of  some  minor  pieces,  constitute  the  third 
volume  of  the  prose  works.  Besides  these,  he 
furnished,  in  1852,  several  valuable  chapters 
for  the  "  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli," 
which  are  not  contained  in  the  collection  of  his 
works. 

His  poetical  works  are  "Poems  by  R.  W. 
Emerson"  (1846),  and  "May-day,  and  Other 
Pieces"  (1867).  These  poems  were  mostly  writ 
ten  at  intervals  between  1840  and  1867.  Most  of 
them  are  short.  The  longest  are  "  Woodnotes," 
of  about  five  hundred  lines  ;  "  May-day,"  of  about 
six  hundred,  "  Monadnock,"  of  about  five  hun 
dred,  and  "The  Adirondacks,"  of  about  four 


NATURE.  99 

hundred  lines.  In  all,  there  are  about  one  hun 
dred  and  forty  pieces,  ranging  from  four  lines 
upward,  few  of  them  exceeding  fifty  lines. 


VII. 

NATURE. 

,"  the  earliest  of  Emerson's  books, 
was  published  in  1836.  It  was  a  small  volume  of 
some  two  hundred  pages,  openly  printed,  and 
containing  less  than  half  as  much  matter  as  this 
little  book.  While,  perhaps,  not  the  greatest  of 
his  works,  it  is  to  us  the  most  delightful.  Mr. 
Whipple  has  said  that  "  Emerson  seldom  indulges 
in  sentiment,  and  in  his  nature  emotion  seems  to 
be  less  the  product  of  the  heart  than  of  the 
brain."  This  remark  does  not  hold  good  in  re 
spect  to  "Nature,"  which  is  replete  with  the 
deepest  sentiment  and  the  liveliest  emotion.  In 
it  the  heart  predominates  over  the  brain.  The 
style  is  glowing  rather  than  austere,  rising  not 
unfrequently  to  a  lofty  pitch  of  eloquence.  It  is 
inspired  throughout  by  a  glad  spirit  born  of  re 
covered  health,  a  happy  new-found  home,  and 
pleasant  domestic  and  social  surroundings.  Than 
Concord  no  more  fitting  residence  could  be  found 
for  a  man  like  him.  The  place  itself  was,  and 


100  EMERSON. 

still  is,  of  the  quietest.  A  half -hour's  walk  would 
place  him  in  complete  solitude  ;  but  there  were 
within  sight  of  his  door  the  abodes  of  men  and 
women  of  culture,  enough  to  furnish  congenial 
society,  while  a  ride  of  a  couple  of  hours  would 
bring  him  to  the  doors  of  his  literary  friends  in 
Boston  and  Cambridge,  and  to  the  alcoves  of  the 
great  libraries  there.  But  the  book,  created  un 
der  such  happy  auspices,  fell  almost  still-born 
from  the  press.  We  are  told  that  it  took  twelve 
years  to  dispose  of  an  edition  of  five  hundred 
copies.  Like  Wordsworth,  he  had  to  bide  his 
time,  and  "create  the  taste  by  which  he  was  to 
be  enjoyed " ;  and,  like  Wordsworth,  he  has  not 
waited  in  vain. 

We  shall  speak  at  some  length  of  this  book — 
the  first  fruits  of  his  genius,  the  "first  crush- 
ings  "  of  the  grapes  of  his  intellectual  vineyard — 
for  the  reason  that  in  it  he  more  or  less  devel 
oped  the  germs  of  most  of  his  speculations  and 
theories.  We  shall  also  bring  together  passages 
from  his  later  writings  bearing  upon  the  same  or 
kindred  topics,  which  explain,  confirm,  and  in 
some  degree  modify  the  views  therein  propounded. 
In  a  brief  Introduction,  he  sets  forth  the  general 
design  and  aim  of  the  book. 

THE   END    OF    NATUEE. 

"  Our  age  is  retrospective.  It  builds  the  sepulchres 
of  the  fathers;  it  writes  biographies,  histories,  and  criti- 


NATURE.  101 

cism.  The  foregoing  generations  beheld  God  and  Nature 
face  to  face ;  we  through  their  eyes.  Why  should  not 
we  also  enjoy  an  original  relation  to  the  universe?  Why 
should  not  we  have  a  poetry  and  philosophy  of  insight 
and  not  of  tradition,  and  religion  by  revelation  to  us,  and 
not  the  history  of  theirs  ?  Imbosomed  for  a  season  in 
Nature,  whose  floods  of  life  stream  around  and  through 
us,  and  invite  us  by  the  powers  they  supply  to  action 
proportioned  to  Nature,  why  should  we  grope  among  the 
dry  bones  of  the  past,  or  put  the  living  generation  to  mas 
querade  out  of  its  faded  wardrobe  ?  There  is  more  wool 
and  flax  in  the  fields.  There  are  new  lands,  new  men, 
new  thoughts.  Let  us  demand  our  own  work  and  laws 
and  worship. 

"  Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions  to  ask  which  are 
unanswerable.  We  must  trust  the  perfection  of  the  cre 
ation  so  far  as  to  believe  whatever  curiosity  the  order  of 
things  has  awakened  in  our  minds  the  order  of  things 
can  satisfy.  Every  man's  condition  is  a  solution  in  hiero 
glyphic  of  those  inquiries  he  would  put.  He  acts  it  as 
life  before  he  apprehends  it  as  truth.  In  like  manner, 
Nature  is  already,  in  its  forms  and  tendencies,  describing 
its  own  design.  Let  us  interrogate  the  great  apparition 
that  shines  so  peacefully  around  us.  Let  us  inquire,  To 
what  end  is  Nature  ?  " 

We  will  not  here  pause  to  call  in  question  the 
accuracy  of  the  foregoing  proem  further  than  to 
say  that,  in  our  judgment,  the  generalization  is 
far  too  broad.  If  by  "  generations  "  we  are  to  un 
derstand  the  mass  of  mankind  living  at  any  one 
time,  or  even  any  considerable  portion  of  them, 
we  do  not  find  in  all  our  reading  any  generation 


102-  ,  EMERSON, 

who  "  beheld  God  and  Nature  face  to  face ."  Here 
and  there  indeed,  scattered  through  the  ages, 
there  have  been  men  to  whom  God  and  Nature 
seem  to  have  manifested  themselves  partially  in 
an  original  manner.  Of  such  men,  in  our  view, 
were  the  prophets  and  bards  of  the  Old  Testament, 
the  evangelists  and  apostles  of  the  New  Testa 
ment,  and,  above  all — speaking  only  humanly  of 
him,  and  without  touching  the  point  of  his  divin 
ity — the  "man  Jesus."  If  Mr.  Emerson,  or  any 
one  else,  chooses  to  put  Buddha  and  Zoroaster, 
Menu  and  Plato,  Milton  and  Swedenborg,  into  the 
category,  we  will  not  dispute  them.  Did  not  all 
of  them  claim,  in  some  way  or  other,  to  have 
talked  face  to  face  with  God  ?  And  yet  they  all 
looked  at  the  universe,  and  the  great  laws  of  the 
universe,  more  or  less,  and  very  largely,  through 
the  eyes  of  others.  Did  not  Jesus  look  through 
the  eyes  of  Moses  and  David  and  Isaiah  ?  Did 
not  Buddha  and  Plato  draw  from  wells  digged  by 
wise  men  who  had  gone  before  them  ?  Does  not 
Emerson  look  through  partially  the  eyes  of  all 
these  men,  and  those  of  many  another  ?  All  ages 
have  been  retrospective ;  and  we  believe  that  all 
ages — our  own  included — are  also  prospective. 

Every  age  dresses  itself  more  or  less  in  the  gar 
ments  woven  by  preceding  ones.  Some  of  these 
are  indeed  faded  and  worn  out ;  others  are  fading 
and  decaying  ;  some,  we  believe — and  we  suppose 
Emerson  believes — will  never  be  outworn  through 


NATURE.  103 

all  human  generations.  Thus,  in  a  passage  already 
cited  from  his  "  Divinity  Address,"  he  inculcates 
the  thought  that  the  Christian  cultus,  with  two 
at  least  of  its  distinguishing  features,  the  Seventh- 
day  rest,  "the  jubilee  of  the  whole  world,"  and 
the  institution  of  preaching,  will  stand  to  the  end 
of  time.  A  revelation  is  not  the  less  a  revelation 
to  us  because  it  comes  to  us  through  Moses  or 
Paul,  through  Plato  or  Confucius.  The  thing 
which  we  see  and  feel  is  none  the  less  our  sight 
and  feeling  because  Swedenborg  or  Emerson  has 
told  us  where  to  look  for  it ;  and  has  told  us, 
moreover,  how  the  view  of  it  affected  him.  If 
only  I  see  and  feel  it,  it  is  mine,  as  really  and 
truly  as  though  no  man  had  ever  before  felt  or 
thought  it.  I  myself  might  never  have  thought 
out  that  sublime  law  of  gravitation  which  binds 
the  entire  physical  universe  into  one  whole,  that 
law  in  virtue  of  which  the  stars  in  their  courses 
are  kept  from  wrong,  and  by  which  the  most 
ancient  heavens  are  as  strong  as  they  were  at  the 
dawn  of  creation.  Yet,  when  Newton  has  discov 
ered  this  universal  law,  and  taught  it  to  me,  it  is 
mine  as  much  as  it  was  his.  It  is  no  more  his, 
the  possession  of  his  generation,  than  it  is  the  pos 
session  of  all  future  generations  of  men. 

The  trouble  with  most  earnest  men,  when  they 
compare  the  present  with  the  past,  is  that  they 
overlook  the  immensity  of  the  past;  they  put 
ages  at  one  beam  of  the  scale  and  years  at  the 


104  EMERSON. 

other.  The  good  in  the  one  scale  is  but  dust  when 
weighed  against  that  in  the  other.  Half  uncon 
sciously,  they  overlook  the  fact  that  the  good  of 
the  past  is  the  net  sum  and  residue  of  all  that 
countless  generations  have  achieved;  while  the 
good  in  the  other  scale  is  just  that  which  has  been 
achieved  by  the  men  of  a  single  generation.  And 
still  again,  the  folly  of  past  generations,  their 
manifold  stupidities  and  unbeliefs,  have  all  gone 
the  way  to  dusty  death  ;  they  offend  us  no  more, 
and  we  only  know  that  they  ever  existed  when 
we  grope  amid  the  dead  ashes  in  their  sepulchres; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  follies  and  stupidi 
ties  of  our  own  day  confront  us  at  every  turn  ; 
like  the  frogs  of  Egypt  they  come  up  into  our  bed 
chambers  and  our  kneading-troughs ;  like  the  lo 
custs,  they  seem  to  be  devouring  every  green  thing. 
But  the  frogs  die,  the  locusts  are  driven  away,  and 
Nature  retains  no  token  that  they  ever  were.  To 
the  widest  observation  all  evil  is  transient  and 
perishable  ;  the  good  only  survives,  and  is  immor 
tal.  To  the  thinking  man  of  no  age  has  his  own 
generation  seemed  an  heroic  one.  Most  turn  to 
the  far  past  for  the  Golden  Age  ;  some  look  for  it 
in  the  far  or  near  future  ;  few  in  the  immediate 
present.  But  if  there  be  an  all-wise,  an  all-good, 
an  all-powerful  Creator  and  Ruler  of  the  universe, 
then  it  follows  as  a  matter  of  certainty  that  the 
course  of  things  must  be  ever  tending  toward  the 
better,  not  toward  the  worse.  Bather  than  be- 


NATURE.  105 

lieve  otherwise,  I  would  be  an  atheist.  If  we  read 
history  with  open  eyes,  we  shall  see  that  such  is  the 
case.  The  world  does  move,  and  moves  in  the 
right  direction.  Doubtless  there  are  periods  when 
the  movement  seems  checked,  or  even  apparently 
reversed.  Trace  the  Mississippi  from  its  sources 
downward,  and  here  and  there  it  seems  to  the 
voyager  that  its  course  is  checked  or  reversed,  and 
that  the  current  is  flowing  back  to  its  fountains. 
But  all  the  while  the  waters  are  circling  around 
some  obstacle  which  they  will  in  the  end  either 
elude  or  sweep  away.  Could  one  mount  high 
enough,  and  with  sure  vision  survey  the  whole 
course,  all  these  petty  divergencies  would  vanish 
from  the  view,  and  he  would  perceive  that  the 
whole  mighty  flood  is  all  the  while  moving  on 
ward  to  the  ocean. 

So  it  is  with  the  general  history  of  human 
generations.  Doubtless  there  have  been  dark 
ages,  miserable  ages,  ages  seemingly  altogether 
barren  of  good  and  unprofitable  in  every  way. 
But  yet  the  human  race  is  growing  better.  How 
many  of  the  best  of  the  Hebrew  patriarchs  would 
be  out  of  the  penitentiary  in  any  modern  civilized 
community  ?  Yet,  beyond  doubt,  they  were  the 
best  men  of  their  times.  The  rear  of  the  present 
good  men  of  civilized  races  is  farther  on  in  morals 
than  the  vanguard  of  them  was  two,  three,  or 
four  thousand  years  ago,  and  the  bad  are  no  worse. 
The  advance  is  seen  also  in  even  savages  races. 


106  EMERSON. 

Do  not  the  Esquimaux  and  the  Zulus  rank  higher 
in  the  scale  of  being  than  did  the  cave-dwellers 
and  men  of  the  Stone  Age,  traces  of  whom  every 
now  and  then  crop  up  ?  Or,  to  sum  up  the  whole 
in  a  sentence,  is  the  world  of  to-day  such  as  it  was 
at  the  time  of  the  Deluge,  good  for  nothing  in 
fact  or  in  prospect,  and  fit  only  to  be  swept  away 
to  the  last  individual,  saving  only  the  eight  souls 
who  entered  into  the  ark  and  were  saved  ? 

Whether  this  generation  of  ours  is  really  one 
of  the  decadent  generations  is  a  matter  which 
we  are  not  called  upon  to  discuss,  only — Oarlyle 
often,  and  Emerson  sometimes  to  the  contrary — 
we  think  it  is  not.  Nay,  more,  we  believe  it  to 
be  very  distinctively  an  age  of  progress  and  even 
of  faith.  "We  believe  that  to-day  there  are  more 
men  who  look  upon  God  and  Nature  face  to  face 
than  there  ever  were  before  at  one  time  upon 
earth.  Indeed,  notwithstanding  Emerson's  ap 
parent  pessimism,  the  whole  tone  of  his  writings 
is  essentially  optimist ;  and  in  none  of  them  more 
so  than  in  this  book  upon  "Nature." 

He  does  not  always,  if  we  understand  him, 
use  the  term  "Nature"  in  exactly  the  same 
sense.  Sometimes  he  appears  to  mean  by  it  the 
Supreme  Mind  from  which  all  things  proceed ; 
sometimes  apparently  the  phenomena  of  the  out 
ward  world ;  sometimes  the  laws  in  virtue  of 
which  these  phenomena  manifest  themselves  to  the 
individual  man.  But  in  this  book  he  gives  a  for- 


NATURE.  107 

mal  definition  of  Nature  wide  enough,  to  include 
everything  saving  the  inmost  consciousness  of 
each  individual  man  and  the  Supreme  Being.  His 
definition  stands  thus : 

WHAT  NATURE   IS. 

"  Philosophically  considered,  the  universe  is  composed 
of  Nature  and  the  Soul.  Strictly  speaking,  therefore,  all 
that  is  separate  from  us,  all  which  philosophy  distin 
guishes  from  the  Not  Me — that  is,  both  Nature  and  Art, 
and  all  other  men,  and  my  own  body — must  be  ranked 
under  this  name  *  NATURE.'  In  enumerating  the  values 
of  Nature  and  casting  up  their  sum,  I  shall  use  the 
word  in  both  senses — in  its  common  and  in  its  philosophi 
cal  import.  In  inquiries  so  general  as  our  present  one, 
the  inaccuracy  is  not  material ;  no  confusion  of  thought 
will  occur.  Nature,  in  the  common  sense,  refers  to  es 
sences  unchanged  by  man :  space,  the  air,  the  river,  the 
leaf.  Art  is  applied  to  the  mixture  of  his  will  with  the 
same  things,  as  in  a  house,  a  canal,  a  picture,  a  statue. 
But  his  operations,  taken  together,  are  so  insignificant 
— a  little  chipping,  baking,  patching,  and  washing — that 
in  an  impression  so  grand  as  that  of  the  world  on  the 
human  mind  they  do  not  vary  the  result." 

He  proceeds  to  lay  down  the  end  and  purpose 
of  all  study,  thought,  and  speculation. 

THEORIES   AND    PHENOMENA. 

"  All  science  has  one  aim,  namely,  to  find  a  theory  of 
Nature.  We  have  theories  of  races  and  of  functions, 
but  scarcely  yet  a  remote  approach  to  an  idea  of  crea 
tion.  We  are  now  so  far  from  the  road  to  truth  that 


108  EMERSON. 

religious  teachers  dispute  and  hate  each  other,  and  spec 
ulative  men  are  esteemed  unsound  and  frivolous.  But 
to  a  sound  judgment  the  most  abstract  truth  is  the  most 
practical.  Whenever  a  true  theory  appears,  it  will  be 
its  own  evidence.  Its  test  is  that  it  will  explain  all  phe 
nomena.  Now,  many  are  thought  not  only  unexplained 
but  inexplicable:  language,  sleep,  madness,  dreams, 
beasts,  sex." 

We  do  not  believe  that  Mr.  Emerson  would 
claim  that  he  has  in  any  good  degree  arrived  at 
such  a  general  theory — one  which  explains  all 
phenomena.  We  do  not  think  that  any  finite 
mind  can  frame  such  a  theory ;  or  that,  if  framed 
by  a  higher  power,  that  any  finite  mind  could 
grasp  it  in  anything  like  its  full  extent.  But 
what  Mr.  Emerson  has  done  in  this  book  of  liis 
is  to  set  forth  many  aspects  in  which  Nature 
works  for  the  weal  of  man.  These  varying  as 
pects  are  presented  in  picturesque  forms.  Thus  : 

THE   STARS. 

"To  go  into  solitude  a  man  needs  to  retire  as  much 
from  his  chamber  as  from  society.  I  am  not  solitary 
while  I  read  and  write,  though  nobody  is  with  me.  But, 
if  a  man  would  be  alone,  let  him  look  at  the  stars.  The 
rays  that  come  from  those  heavenly  worlds  will  separate 
between  him  and  what  he  touches.  One  might  think 
the  atmosphere  was  made  transparent  with  this  design  to 
give  man  in  the  heavenly  bodies  the  perpetual  presence 
of  the  sublime.  Seen  in  the  streets  of  cities,  how  great 
they  are !  If  the  stars  should  appear  only  one  night  in  a 


NATURE.  109 

thousand  years,  how  would  men  believe  and  adore,  and 
preserve  for  many  generations  the  remembrance  of  the 
city  of  God  which  had  been  shown !  But  every  night 
come  out  these  envoys  of  beauty,  and  light  the  universe 
with  their  admonishing  smile." 

Most  persons  "  do  not  see  the  sun ;  at  least 
they  have  a  very  superficial  seeing."  We  may 
add,  that  which  the  most  thoughtful  seer  beholds 
— say  in  a  star — is  by  no  means  the  picture  paint 
ed  upon  the  retina  of  the  eye.  All  that  is  there 
pictured  is  only  a  minute  bright  point.  The  gas 
light  far  up  a  church  steeple  outshines  the  morn 
ing  and  the  evening  star,  outshines  Sirius  and 
Orion.  To  the  eye  alone  the  lighted  street  of  a 
city  is  brighter  than  all  the  galaxies.  To  the  eye 
alone  the  illuminated  dome  of  St.  Peter's  is  more 
magnificent  than  the  star-lit  firmament.  It  is 
only  when  science  comes  in  and  tells  us  that  these 
minute  points  of  light  are  worlds,  that  man  be 
gins  to  see  the  starry  heavens.  What  he  then 
really  sees  is  indeed  not  the  stars  themselves,  but 
the  stars  as  he  has  come  to  know  them  to  be. 
The  eye  of  your  dog  sees  the  same  stars  that  your 
eye  sees.  Yet  he  never  stops  to  gaze  upon  them, 
although  he  will  go  frantic  at  the  blaze  of  an  ex 
ploding  fire-rocket.  To  him  this  is  a  phenomenon 
more  imposing  than  any  meteoric  shower.  And 
when  science  goes  further,  and  tells  of  the  im 
mensity  of  space  which  separates  us  from  the  stars, 
we  gain  a  still  higher  idea  of  their  magnificence. 


110  EMERSON. 

Yet  to  the  mere  eye  this  immensity  of  space  is 
invisible.  For  aught  the  eye  can  tell  us,  the  pole- 
star  is  no  farther  oif  than  the  candle  which  shines 
from  a  cottage  window  on  the  top  of  a  hill  a  few 
furlongs  away ;  and  that  candle  is  to  the  physical 
eye  by  far  the  brighter  of  the  two.  And  when 
science  goes  still  further,  and  tells  us  that  all  the 
stars  which  we  see,  all  those  which  the  telescope 
reveals  to  us,  and  even  those  which  the  telescope 
refuses  to  distinguish  separately,  but  gathers  to 
gether  into  a  faint  cloud  the  accumulated  light 
from  untold  myriads  of  them  ;  and,  still  further, 
when  it  tells  us  that  all  these  innumerable  stars 
are  but  parts  of  one  great  system,  bound  together 
by  one  eternal  and  immutable  law ;  that  as  the 
moon  revolves  around  the  earth,  and  the  earth 
and  all  her  sister  planets  around  the  sun,  so  all 
these  starry  suns  are  but  satellites  or  sub-satellites 
of  a  still  mightier  sun,  which  mortal  eye  has  never 
seen — when  his  intellect  has  fairly  grasped  these 
and  such-like  facts,  and  just  so  far  as  he  has 
grasped  them,  then  man  begins  to  see  the  stars. 
But  he  sees  them  with  the  inward,  not  with  the 
outward  eye.  To  be  a  lover  of  Nature,  a  man 
must  be  an  understander  of  Nature.  Or,  as  Emer 
son  phrases  it,  "  The  lover  of  Nature  is  he  whose 
inward  and  outward  senses  are  truly  adjusted  to 
each  other.  Then  his  intercourse  with  heaven 
and  earth  becomes  part  of  his  daily  food.  In  the 
presence  of  Nature  a  wild  delight  runs  through 


NATURE.  HI 

him,  in  spite  of  real  sorrows."     To  such  a  one 
only  apply  such  passages  as  this  : 

DELIGHT   IN   NATTJKE. 

u  Not  the  sun  or  the  summer  alone,  but  every  hour 
and  season  yields  its  tribute  of  delight ;  for  every  hour 
and  change  corresponds  to  and  authorizes  a  different 
state  of  the  mind,  from  breathless  noon  to  grimmest  mid 
night.  Nature  is  a  setting  that  fits  equally  well  a  comic 
or  a  mourning  piece.  In  good  health  the  air  is  a  cordial 
of  incredible  value.  Crossing  a  bare  common,  in  snow 
puddles,  at  twilight,  under  a  clouded  sky,  without  having 
in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special  good  fortune, 
I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilaration.  In  the  woods, 
too,  a  man  casts  off  his  years,  as  the  snake  his  slough. 
In  the  woods  is  perpetual  youth.  Within  these  planta 
tions  of  God,  a  decorum  and  sanctity  reign,  a  perennial 
festival  is  dressed,  and  the  guest  sees  not  how  he  should 
tire  of  them  in  a  thousand  years. 

"  In  the  woods  we  return  to  reason  and  faith.  There 
I  feel  that  nothing  can  befall  me  in  life — no  disgrace,  no 
calamity  (leaving  me  my  eyes),  which  Nature  can  not  re 
pair.  I  become  a  transparent  eyeball ;  I  am  nothing  ;  I 
see  all ;  the  currents  of  the  Universal  Being  circulate 
through  me ;  I  am  part  and  particle  of  God.  In  the  tran 
quil  landscape,  and  especially  in  the  distant  line  of  the 
horizon,  man  beholds  somewhat  as  beautiful  as  his  own 
nature.  The  greatest  delight  which  the  fields  and  woods 
minister  is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult  relation  between 
man  and  the  vegetable.  I  am  not  alone  and  unacknowl 
edged.  They  nod  to  me,  and  I  to  them.  The  waving  of 
the  boughs  in  the  storm  is  new  to  me  and  old.  It  takes 
me  by  surprise,  and  yet  is  not  unknown.  Its  effect  on 


112  EMERSON. 

me  is  like  that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a  better  emotion 
coming  over  me,  when  I  deemed  I  was  thinking  justly  or 
doing  right." 

Some  of  this  is  true  to  a  certain  extent  of  most 
men,  perhaps  at  times  to  all  men ;  and  to  none  at 
all  times.  There  is  a  certain  mere  physical  de 
light  in  Nature  even  to  the  beasts.  Some  rejoice 
in  sunlight  and  warmth  ;  the  Arctic  bear  delights 
in  snow  and  ice.  But  to  how  many  men  is  there 
ever  anything  which  answers  to  this  glowing  de 
scription  of  the  delights  of  Nature?  Has  the 
woodsman  who  sees  in  the  tree  at  best  only  so 
much  fuel  or  timber,  or  perhaps  a  thing  to  be  got 
rid  of  so  that  he  may  plant  his  corn  or  potatoes, 
any  such  delight  in  the  woods  ?  Emerson  is  in 
no  wise  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  all  this  does  not 
belong  wholly  to  Nature  itself,  but  comes  greatly 
out  of  our  imminent  relations  to  it.  Thus  he  fol 
lows  the  foregoing  by  this  pregnant  limitation  : 

NATURE    AND    OUB   MOODS. 

"  Yet  it  is  certain  that  the  power  to  produce  this  de 
light  does  not  reside  in  Nature,  but  in  man,  or  in  a  har 
mony  of  both.  It  is  necessary  to  use  these  pleasures  with 
great  temperance.  For  Nature  is  not  always  tricked 
in  holiday  attire;  but  the  same  scene  which  yesterday 
breathed  perfume  and  glittered  as  for  the  frolic  of  the 
nymphs  is  overspread  with  melancholy  to-day.  Nature 
always  wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit.  To  a  man  laboring 
under  calamity,  the  heat  of  his  own  fire  hath  sadness  in  it. 
Then  there  is  a  kind  of  contempt  of  the  landscape  felt 


NATURE. 


by  him  who  has  just  lost  a  dear  friend  by  death.  The 
sky  is  less  grand  as  it  shuts  down  over  less  worth  in  the 
population." 

That  is,  though  the  real  aspect  of  Nature  may 
not  have  changed,  its  aspect  to  us  is  but  the  coun 
terpart  of  our  own  present  mood.  Does  one  wish 
to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  brightest  summer  day, 
he  need  only  put  on  a  pair  of  sad-colored  glasses. 
As  Coleridge  has  well  said  : 

"  We  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live.  .  .  . 
The  rill  is  tuneless  to  his  ear  who  feels 
No  harmony  within  ;  the  south  wind  steals 
As  silent  as  unseen  among  the  leaves. 
Who  hath  no  inward  beauty  none  perceives, 
Though  all  around  is  beautiful." 

passing  from  the  material  to  the  spiritual 
aspect  of  nature,  Emerson  proceeds  to  say  that 
"  whoever  considers  the  final  cause  of  the  world 
will  discern  a  multitude  of  uses  that  enter  as  parts 
into  that  result.  They  all  admit  of  being  thrown 
into  one  of  the  following  classes  :  Commodity, 
Beauty,  Language,  and  Discipline,"  and  he  treats 
of  these  uses  in  that  order. 

COMMODITY. 

"  Under  the  general  name  of  '  Commodity  '  I  rank  all 

those  advantages  which  our  senses  owe  to  Nature.    This 

of  course  is  a  benefit  which  is  temporary  and  mediate, 

not  ultimate,  like  its  service  to  the  soul.     Yet,  although 

8 


114  EMERSON. 

low,  it  is  perfect  in  its  kind,  and  is  the  only  use  of  Nature 
which  all  men  apprehend.  The  misery  of  man  appears 
like  childish  petulance  when  we  explore  the  steady  and 
prodigal  provision  that  has  been  made  for  his  support 
and  delight  on  this  green  ball  which  floats  him  through 
the  heavens.  What  angels  invented  those  splendid  orna 
ments,  those  rich  conveniences ;  this  ocean  of  air  above, 
this  ocean  of  water  beneath,  this  firmament  of  earth  be 
tween  ;  this  zodiac  of  lights,  this  tent  of  dropping  clouds, 
this  striped  coat  of  climates,  this  four-fold  year  ?  Beasts, 
fire,  water,  stones,  and  corn  serve  him.  The  field  is  at 
once  his  floor,  his  workshop,  his  playground,  his  garden, 
his  bed." 

He  goes  on  to  say  that  "Nature,  in  its  minis 
try  to  man,  is  not  only  the  material,  but  is  also 
the  process  and  the  result.  The  wind  sows  the 
seed ;  the  sun  evaporates  the  sea ;  the  ice  on  the 
other  side  of  the  planet  condenses  rain  on  this ; 
the  rain  feeds  the  plant ;  the  plant  feeds  the  ani 
mal.  And  thus  the  endless  circulations  of  the 
divine  charity  nourish  man."  The  useful  arts, 
moreover,  are  reproductions  or  new  combinations 
by  the  wit  of  man  of  the  same  natural  benefac 
tors.  Such  are  the  steam-engine  and  the  railroad. 
"The  private  man  hath  cities,  ships,  canals, 
bridges,  built  for  him.  He  goes  to  the  post-office, 
and  the  human  race  run  on  his  errands ;  to  the 
bookshop,  and  the  human  race  read  and  write 
of  all  that  happens  to  him ;  to  the  court-house, 
and  nations  repair  his  wrongs."  But  he  adds, 
pregnantly,  "This  mercenary  benefit  is  one  which 


NATURE.  115 

has  respect  to  a  further  good.     A  man  is  fed,  not 
that  he  may  be  fed,  but  that  he  may  work." 

BEAUTY. 

"  But  Nature  serves  a  much  nobler  want  of  man  than 
any  or  all  of  these  which  are  served  by  "  Commodity." 
This  nobler  end  is  the  love  of  Beauty,  that  orderly  ar 
rangement  which  led  the  Greeks  to  call  the  world  ^Kos- 
mos^  'Beauty.'  All  the  primary  forms  of  Nature  are 
capable  of  giving  delight  in  and  for  themselves.  This  is 
partly  owing  to  the  eye  itself;  for  the  eye  is  the  best 
of  artists;  and  so,  too,  light  is  the  best  of  painters. 
There  is  no  object  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not 
make  beautiful;  and  the  stimulus  which  it  affords  to  the 
sense,  and  a  sort  of  infinitude  which  it  hath,  like  space 
and  time,  make  all  matter  gay.  And  besides  this  general 
grace  diffused  over  Nature,  almost  all  the  individual 
forms  are  agreeable  to  the  eye,  as  is  proved  by  our  end 
less  imitations  of  them." 

He  goes  on  to  distribute  the  aspects  of  Beauty 
into  three  categories.  First,  the  simple  percep 
tion  of  natural  forms  is  a  delight,  "  although  in 
its  lowest  functions  this  seems  to  lie  on  the  con 
fines  of  Commodity  and  Beauty.  To  the  body 
and  the  mind  which  have  been  cramped  by  nox 
ious  work  or  company,  Nature  is  medicinal,  and 
restores  their  tone.  The  tradesman,  the  attorney, 
comes  out  of  the  din  and  craft  of  the  street,  and 
sees  the  sky  and  the  woods,  and  is  a  man  again. 
In  their  eternal  calm  he  finds  himself.  The 
health  of  the  eye  seems  to  demand  a  horizon. 


EMERSON. 


We  are  never  tired  so  long  as  we  can  see  far 
enough."     But  he  continues  : 


BEAUTY    FOE    ITSELF. 

"In  other  hours  Nature  satisfies  by  its  loveliness, 
without  any  mixture  of  corporeal  benefit.  I  see  the 
spectacle  of  morning  from  the  hilltop  over  my  house, 
from  daybreak  to  sunrise,  with  emotions  which  an  angel 
might  share.  The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float  like 
fishes  in  the  sea  of  crimson  light.  From  the  earth,  as  a 
shore,  I  look  into  that  silent  sea.  I  seem  to  partake  of 
its  rapid  transformations;  the  active  enchantment  reaches 
my  dust,  and  I  dilate  and  conspire  with  the  morning 
wind.  How  does  Nature  deify  us  with  a  few  and  cheap 
elements!  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and  I  will  make 
the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.  The  dawn  is  my  As 
syria  ;  the  sunset  and  moonrise  my  Paphos  and  unimag 
inable  realms  of  faerie ;  broad  noon  shall  be  my  England 
of  the  senses  and  the  understanding ;  the  night  shall  be 
my  Germany  of  mystic  philosophy  and  dreams.  ..." 

"But  this  beauty  of  Nature,  which  is  seen  and  felt 
as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.  The  shows  of  day,  the 
dewy  morning,  the  rainbow,  mountains,  orchards  in 
blossom,  stars,  moonlight,  shadows  in  still  water,  and 
the  like,  become  shows  merely,  if  too  eagerly  hunted, 
and  mock  us  with  their  unreality.  Go  out  of  the  house 
to  see  the  moon,  and  it  is  mere  tinsel ;  it  will  not  please 
as  when  its  light  shines  upon  your  necessary  journeys. 
The  beauty  that  shimmers  in  the  yellow  afternoons  of 
October,  who  could  ever  clutch  it?  Go  forth  to  find  it, 
and  it  is  gone.  It  is  only  a  mirage  as  you  look  from  the 
windows  of  diligence."  , 


NATURE.  117 

But  in  the  mere  matter  of  Beauty,  Nature  has 
a  far  higher  function  for  the  soul  than  that  which 
it  has  for  its  own  sake.  This  is  its  spiritual  aspect. 

THE    SPIRITUAL  ASPECTS    OF    BEAUTY. 

"The  presence  of  a  higher,  namely,  of  the  spiritual, 
element  is  essential  to  its  perfection.  The  high  and 
divine  beauty,  which  can  be  loved  without  effeminacy,  is 
that  which  is  found  in  combination  with  the  human  will. 
Beauty  is  the  mark  which  God  sets  upon  virtue.  Every 
natural  action  is  graceful.  Every  heroic  act  is  also  de 
cent,  and  causes  the  place  and  bystanders  to  shine.  We 
are  taught  by  great  actions  that  the  universe  is  the  prop 
erty  of  every  individual  in  it.  Every  rational  creature 
has  all  Nature  for  his  dowry  and  estate.  He  may  divest 
himself  of  it;  he  may  creep  into  a  corner,  and  abdicate 
his  kingdom,  as  most  men  do,  but  he  is  entitled  to  the 
world  by  his  constitution.  In  proportion  to  the  energy 
of  his  thought  and  will,  he  takes  up  the  world  into  him 
self.  'All  those  things  for  which  men  plow,  build,  or 
sail,  obey  virtue,'  said  Sallust.  '  The  winds  and  waves,' 
said  Gibbon,  '  are  always  on  the  side  of  the  ablest  navi 
gators.'  So  are  the  moon  and  all  the  stars  of  heaven." 

It  will  be  borne  in  mind  that  Emerson,  here 
and  almost  always  elsewhere,  uses  the  term  "  vir 
tue,"  as  Paul  did  the  corresponding  Greek  word, 
in  its  primary  etymological  signification,  equiva 
lent  to  our  word  "manliness";  not  as  in  its 
ordinary  and  more  extended  sense,  as  the  summa 
tion  of  all  good  qualities  and  affections.  Pursuing 
the  same  line  of  thought,  he  continues  : 


118  EMERSON. 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  NOBLE  ACTS. 

"  When  a  noble  act  is  done— perhaps  in  a  scene  of 
great  natural  beauty ;  when  Leonidas  and  his  three  hun 
dred  martyrs  consume  one  day  in  dying,  and  the  sun  and 
moon  come  each  and  look  at  them  once  in  the  steep  de 
file  of  Therm opy Ia3 ;  when  Arnold  Winkelreid,  in  the 
high  Alps,  under  the  shadow  of  the  avalanche,  gathers 
in  his  side  a  sheaf  of  Austrian  spears  to  break  the  line  for 
his  comrades :  are  not  these  heroes  entitled  to  the  beau 
ty  of  the  scene,  to  the  beauty  of  the  deed?  When  the 
bark  of  Columbus  nears  the  shore  of  America — before  it 
the  beach  lined  with  savages,  fleeing  out  of  all  their  huts 
of  cane,  the  sea  behind,  and  the  purple  mountains  of  the 
Indian  archipelago  around — can  we  separate  the  man 
from  the  living  picture?  Does  not  the  New  World 
clothe  his  form  with  her  palm-groves  and  savannas,  as 
fit  drapery  ?  Ever  does  natural  beauty  steal  in  like  air, 
and  envelope  great  actions." 

BEAUTY    IN    ASSOCIATION. 

"Nature  stretcheth  out  her  arms  to  embrace  man, 
only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  greatness.  Willingly 
does  she  follow  his  steps  with  the  rose  and  the  violet, 
and  bend  her  lines  of  grandeur  and  grace  to  the  decora 
tion  of  her  darling  child.  Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of 
equal  scope,  and  the  frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  vir 
tuous  man  is  in  unison  with  her  works,  and  makes  the 
central  figure  of  the  whole  visible  sphere.  Homer,  Pin 
dar,  Socrates,  Phocion,  associate  themselves  fitly  with 
the  geography  and  climate  of  Greece.  The  visible  heav 
ens  and  earth  sympathize  with  Jesus.  And  in  common 
life,  whosoever  has  seen  a  person  of  powerful  character 
and  happy  genius,  will  remark  how  easily  he  took  all 


NATURE.  119 

things  with  him.     The  persons,  the  opinions,  and  the 
day,  and  Nature  became  ancillary  to  a  man." 

The  third  and  last  of  the  general  aspects  under 
which  Beauty  is  considered  is  its  relation  to  the 
intellect.  "  Besides  the  relation  of  things  to  vir 
tue,  they  have  a  relation  to  thought." 

INTELLECTUAL   BEAUTY. 

"The  intellect  searches  out  the  absolute  order  of 
things  as  they  stand  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  without 
the  colors  of  affection.  The  intellectual  and  the  active 
powers  seem  to  succeed  each  other,  and  the  exclusive 
activity  of  the  one  generates  the  exclusive  activity  of  the 
other.  There  is  something  unfriendly  in  each  to  the 
other ;  but  they  are  like  the  alternate  periods  of  feeding 
and  working  in  animals :  each  prepares  and  will  be  fol 
lowed  by  the  other.  Therefore  does  Beauty,  which  in 
relation  to  actions,  as  we  have  seen,  comes  unsought, 
and  comes  because  it  is  unsought,  remain  for  the  appre 
hension  and  pursuit  of  the  intellect ;  and  then  again,  in 
its  turn,  of  the  active  power.  Nothing  divine  dies.  All 
good  is  eternally  reproductive.  The  beauty  of  Nature 
re-forms  itself  in  the  mind ;  and  not  for  barren  contem 
plation,  but  for  new  creation." 

Emerson  here  devotes  a  few  sentences  to  a 
rapid  survey  of  the  relations  between  Beauty  and 
Art. 

BEAUTY   AND    ART. 

"All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the  face 
of  the  world — some  men  even  to  delight.  This  love  of 
Beauty  is  taste.  Others  have  the  same  love  in  such  ex 
cess  that,  not  content  with  admiring,  they  seek  to  em- 


120  EMERSON. 

body  it  in  new  forms.  The  creation  of  Beauty  is  Art. 
The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a  light  upon  the 
mystery  of  humanity.  A  work  of  art  is  an  abstract  or 
epitome  of  the  world.  It  is  the  result  or  expression  of 
Nature  in  miniature.  For,  although  the  works  of  Nature 
are  innumerable,  and  all  different,  the  result  or  expres 
sion  of  them  all  is  similar  and  single.  Nature  is  a  sea  of 
forms  radically  alike  and  even  unique.  A  leaf,  a  sun 
beam,  a  landscape,  the  ocean,  make  an  analogous  impres 
sion  on  the  mind.  What  is  common  to  them  all — that 
perfectness  and  harmony  is  Beauty.  The  standard  of 
Beauty  is  the  entire  circuit  of  natural  forms — the  totality 
of  Nature  which  the  Italians  expressed  by  defining  Beau 
ty  as  '  II  piu  neW  uno."1  Nothing  is  quite  beautiful 
alone  ;  nothing  but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole.  A  single 
object  is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  suggests  this  universal 
grace.  The  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  musician, 
the  architect,  seek  each  to  concentrate  this  radiance  of 
the  world  on  one  point ;  and  each  in  his  several  work  to 
satisfy  the  love  of  Beauty  which  stimulates  him  to  pro 
duce.  Thus  is  Art  a  Nature  passed  through  the  alembic 
of  man.  Thus  in  Art  does  Nature  work  through  the  will 
of  a  man  filled  with  the  beauty  of  her  first  works." 

In  closing  this  chapter  on  Beauty,  Mr.  Emer 
son  gives  the  keynote  to  all  his  philosophy  of  the 
universe — in  fact,  almost  a  summation  of  it,  em 
bracing,  as  it  does,  his  view  of  the  ultimate  rea 
son  of  the  world,  in  so  far,  at  least,  as  we  can  in 
any  good  degree  apprehend  it : 

BEAUTY   NOT   THE   ULTIMATE   END. 

"  The  world  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy  the  de 
sire  of  Beauty.  This  I  call  an  ultimate  end.  No  reason 


NATURE.  121 

can  be  asked  or  given, why  the  soul  seeks  Beauty.  Beau 
ty,  in  its  largest  and  profoundest  sense,  is  one  expression 
for  the  universe.  God  is  the  All-Fair.  Truth  and  Good 
ness  and  Beauty  are  but  different  faces  of  the  same  All. 
But  Beauty  in  Nature  is  not  ultimate.  It  is  the  herald 
of  inward  and  internal  Beauty,  and  is  not  alone  a  solid 
and  satisfactory  good.  It  must  stand  as  a  part,  and  not 
as  yet  the  last  or  highest  expression  of  Nature." 

Language  in  Emerson's  classification  is  the 
third  of  the  uses  which  Nature  subserves  to  man. 
A  few  sentences,  much  disjointed  in  our  conden 
sation,  but  yet,  as  they  stand,  serving  to  show 
the  high  estimate  which  he  puts  upon  this  use. 
"Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts.  The  use  of 
natural  history  is  to  give  us  aid  in  supernatural 
history  ;  the  use  of  the  outer  creation  is  to  give 
us  language  for  the  beings  and  changes  of  the 
inward  creation.  Every  word  which  is  used  to 
express  a  moral  or  intellectual  fact,  if  traced  to 
its  root,  is  found  to  be  borrowed  from  some 
material  appearance."  Thus,  "right"  means 
straight;  "wrong"  means  twisted;  "spirit" 
primarily  means  wind;  "transgression"  the 
crossing  of  a  line.  We  say  the  "  heart"  to  ex 
press  emotion,  the  "head"  to  denote  thought, 
and  so  on.  " And  ' thought'  and  ( emotion'  are 
words  borrowed  from  sensible  things,  and  now 
appropriated  to  spiritual  nature.  Most  of  the 
process  by  which  this  transformation  is  made  is 
hidden  from  us  in  the  remote  time  when  language 


122  EMERSON. 

was  framed  ;  but  the  same  tendency  may  be  daily 
observed  in  children.  Children  and  savages  use 
only  nouns,  or  names  of  things,  which  they  con 
vert  into  verbs,  and  apply  to  analogous  mental 
acts."  But,  continues  Emerson,  in  phrases  that 
might  have  been  written  by  Swedenborg  : 

NATUKAL    SYMBOLISM. 

"  This  origin  of  all  words  that  convey  a  spiritual  im 
port — so  conspicuous  a  fact  in  the  history  of  language — 
is  our  least  debt  to  Nature.  It  is  not  only  words  that 
are  emblematic;  it  is  things  which  are  emblematic. 
Every  natural  fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual  fact. 
Every  appearance  in  Nature  corresponds  to  some  state 
of  the  mind ;  and  that  state  of  the  mind  can  only  be 
described  by  presenting  that  natural  appearance  as  a 
picture.  An  enraged  man  is  a  lion ;  a  cunning  man  is  a 
fox;  a  firm  man  is  a  rock;  a  learned  man  is  a  torch. 
A  lamb  is  innocence ;  a  snake  is  subtle  spite ;  flowers 
express  to  us  the  delicate  affections.  Ligbt  and  darkness 
are  our  familiar  expressions  for  knowledge  and  igno 
rance;  and  heat  for  love.  Visible  distance,  behind  and 
before  us,  is  respectively  our  image  for  memory  and 
hope." 

This  idea  of  universal  symbolism  is  followed 
still  farther  into  the  realms  of  the  spiritual  and 
the  ideal,  up  to  the  very  dwelling-place  of  the 
Supreme  Being  : 

FACTS   A8  TYPICAL. 

"  Who  looks  upon  a  river,  in  a  meditative  hour,  and 
is  not  reminded  of  the  flux  of  all  things?  Throw  a 


NATURE.  123 

stone  into  the  stream,  and  the  circles  that  propagate 
themselves  are  the  beautiful  type  of  all  influence.  Man 
is  conscious  of  a  universal  soul  within  or  behind  his  in 
dividual  life,  wherein,  as  in  a  firmament,  the  natures  of 
justice,  truth,  love,  freedom,  arise  and  shine.  This  uni 
versal  soul  he  calls  Keason.  It  is  not  mine  or  thine 
or  his ;  but  we  are  its.  We  are  its  property  and  men. 
And  the  blue  sky  in  which  the  private  earth  is  buried, 
the  sky  with  its  eternal  calm,  and  full  of  everlasting 
orbs,  is  the  type  of  reason.  That  which,  intellectually 
considered,  we  call  reason,  we  call  Spirit  when  con 
sidered  in  relation  to  Nature.  Spirit  is  the  Creator. 
Spirit  hath  life  in  itself.  And  man,  in  all  ages  and 
countries,  embodies  it  in  his  language  as  the  FATHER. 

"  There  is  nothing  lucky  or  capricious  in  these  analo 
gies  ;  but  they  are  constant,  and  pervade  Nature.  These 
are  not  the  dreams  of  a  few  poets  here  and  there ;  but 
man  is  an  analogist,  and  studies  relations  in  all  objects- 
He  is  placed  in  the  center  of  beings,  and  a  ray  of  rela 
tion  passes  from  every  other  being  to  him.  And  neither 
can  man  be  understood  without  these  objects,  nor  these 
objects  without  man. 

"All  the  facts  in  natural  history,  taken  by  them 
selves,  have  no  value,  but  are  barren  like  a  single  sex. 
But  marry  it  to  human  history,  and  it  is  full  of  life. 
Whole  Floras,  all  Linnasus's  and  Buffon's  volumes,  are 
dry  catalogues  of  facts;  but  the  most  trivial  of  these 
facts — the  habit  of  a  plant,  the  organs  or  work  or  noise 
of  an  insect,  applied  to  the  illustration  of  a  fact  in  intel 
lectual  philosophy,  or  in  any  way  associated  with  human 
nature,  affects  us  in  the  most  lively  and  agreeable  man 
ner.  The  seed  of  a  plant— to  what  affecting  analogies  in 
the  nature  of  man  is  that  little  fruit  made  use  of  in  all 


124  EMERSON. 

discourse  up  to  the  voice  of  Paul,  who  calls  the  human 
corpse  a  seed  :  '  It  is  sown  a  natural  body  ;  it  is  raised 
a  spiritual  body.'  This  immediate  dependence  of  lan 
guage  upon  Nature — this  conversion  of  an  outward  phe 
nomenon  into  a  type  of  somewhat  in  human  life,  never 
loses  its  power  to  affect  us.  It  is  this  which  gives  that 
piquancy  to  the  conversation  of  a  strong-natured  farmer 
or  backwoodsman,  which  all  men  relish." 

But  there  are  many  conditions  requisite  to  any 
thing  like  the  adequate  use  of  language  as  the 
vehicle  of  thought  and  emotion.  First  and  fore 
most,  as  presented  by  Emerson,  is  sincerity  on  the 
part  of  the  speaker.  By  this  we  understand  him 
to  mean  that,  at  least  for  the  time  being,  the  man 
who  speaks  well  must  be  himself  in  earnest. 
The  thing  which  he  says  must  be  subjectively 
true.  The  moment  his  auditors  fairly  suspect 
that  he  is  merely  talking  for  effect,  his  most  elo 
quent  words  are  to  them  like  idle  wind. 

VEEITY  IN  LANGUAGE. 

"  A  man's  power  to  connect  his  thought  with  the 
proper  symbol,  and  so  to  utter  it,  depends  on  the  sim 
plicity  of  his  character ;  that  is,  upon  his  love  of  truth, 
and  his  desire  to  communicate  it  without  loss.  The  cor 
ruption  of  man  is  followed  by  the  corruption  of  language. 
When  simplicity  of  character  and  the  sovereignty  of  ideas 
are  broken  up  by  the  prevalence  of  secondary  desires — 
the  desire  of  riches,  of  pleasure,  of  power,  and  of  praise, 
duplicity  and  falsehood  take  the  place  of  simplicity  and 
truth  ;  the  power  of  Nature  as  an  interpreter  of  the  will 


NATURE.  125 

is  lost.  New  imagery  ceases  to  be  created,  and  old  words 
are  perverted  to  stand  for  things  which  are  not ;  a  paper 
currency  is  employed  when  there  is  no  bullion  in  the 
bank.  In  due  time  the  fraud  is  manifest,  and  words  lose 
all  power  to  stimulate  the  understanding  or  the  affections. 
Hundreds  of  writers  may  be  found  in  every  long-civilized 
nation  who  for  a  time  believe,  and  make  others  believe, 
that  they  see  and  utter  truths,  who  do  not  of  themselves 
clothe  one  thought  in  its  natural  garment,  but  who  feed 
unconsciously  on  the  language  created  by  the  primary 
writers  of  the  country— those,  namely,  who  hold  pri 
marily  on  Nature." 

WOED8    AND   THINGS. 

"  But  wise  men  pierce  this  rotten  diction,  and  fasten 
words  again  to  visible  things ;  so  that  picturesque  lan 
guage  is  at  once  a  commanding  certificate  that  he  who 
employs  it  is  a  man  in  alliance  with  truth  and  God. 
The  moment  our  discourse  rises  above  the  ground-line  of 
familiar  facts,  and  is  inflamed  with  passion  or  exalted  by 
thought,  it  clothes  itself  in  images.  A  man  conversing 
in  earnest,  if  he  watches  his  intellectual  processes,  will 
find  that  a  material  image,  more  or  less  luminous,  arises 
in  his  mind  contemporaneous  with  every  word  which 
furnishes  the  vestment  of  the  thought.  Hence,  good 
writing  and  brilliant  discourse  are  perpetual  allegories. 
This  imagery  is  spontaneous;  it  is  the  blending  of  ex 
perience  with  the  present  action  of  the  mind ;  it  is  its 
proper  creation  ;  it  is  the  working  of  the  original  cause 
through  the  instruments  he  has  already  made." 

A  few  paragraphs  like  these  are  to  our  minds 
worth  more  than  all  the  volumes  of  rhetoric  which 
clutter  up  the  shelves  of  our  libraries,  and  are  a 


126  EMERSON. 

perpetual  weariness  to  the  student,  who  wishes 
somehow  to  gain  the  secret  of  getting  men  to 
think  and  feel  as  he  thinks  and  feels,  or  perhaps 
as  he  dimly  imagines  that  he  thinks  and  feels. 
Everywhere  does  Emerson  insist  upon  this  loving 
intercourse  with  Nature  in  her  visible  forms  as 
the  primal  necessity  for  the  adequate  presentation 
of  thought.  As  in  this  noble  passage  : 

NATUKE    AND   THE    OEATOK. 

"  These  facts  may  suggest  the  advantage  which  the 
country  life  possesses  for  a  powerful  mind  over  the  arti 
ficial  and  curtailed  life  of  cities.  We  know  from  Nature 
more  than  we  can  at  will  communicate.  Its  light  flows 
into  the  mind  for  evermore,  and  we  forget  its  presence. 
The  poet,  the  orator,  bred  in  the  woods,  whose  senses 
have  been  nourished  by  their  fair  and  appeasing  changes, 
year  after  year,  without  design  and  without  heed,  shall 
not  lose  their  lesson  altogether  in  the  roar  of  cities  or 
the  broil  of  politics.  Long  hereafter,  amidst  agitation 
and  terror  in  national  councils — in  the  hour  of  revolu 
tion — these  solid  images  shall  reappear  in  their  morning 
luster,  as  fit  symbols  and  words  of  the  thoughts  which 
the  passing  events  shall  awaken.  At  the  call  of  a  noble 
sentiment,  again  the  woods  wave,  the  pines  murmur,  the 
river  rolls  and  shines,  and  the  cattle  low  upon  the  moun 
tains,  as  he  saw  and  heard  them  in  his  infancy.  And 
with  these  forms  the  keys  of  persuasion,  the  keys  of 
power,  are  put  into  his  hands." 

In  this  special  passage  stress  is  mainly  laid 
upon  the  influence  of  physical  nature  upon  the 
formation  of  language — this  and  its  intimate  rela- 


NATURE.  127 

tions  to  the  growth  of  the  individual  soul.  But 
nature,  in  Emerson's  view,  also  includes  human  be 
ings  ;  and  the  influence  of  all  men  upon  each  man 
is  elsewhere  fully  insisted  upon.  In  considering  the 
mighty  uses  of  nature  in  the  forming,  or  rather  in 
enabling  man  to  form,  a  language,  while  admitting 
the  value  of  its  use  for  our  daily  needs,  he  speaks 
almost  scornfully  of  applying  such  an  implement 
to  ordinary  affairs  of  daily  life.  This,  of  course, 
must  be  taken  with  very  much  of  limitation  ;  for 
if  man,  standing  as  he  does  in  the  universe,  must 
needs  have  his  kitchen  and  common  council,  he 
can  not  well  avoid  talking  about  them.  Emer 
son's  purpose  is  not  to  actually  underrate  this 
lower  use  to  which  language  is  put,  but  rather,  by 
contrast,  to  exalt  the  higher  use. 

PAETIOULAB   MEANINGS. 

"  "We  are  thus  assisted  by  natural  objects  in  the  ex 
pression  of  particular  meanings.  But  how  great  a  lan 
guage  to  convey  such  pepper-corn  informations !  Did  it 
need  such  noble  races  of  creatures,  this  profusion  of 
forms,  this  host  of  orbs  in  heaven,  to  furnish  man  with 
the  dictionary  and  grammar  of  his  municipal  speech? 
Whilst  we  use  this  grand  cipher  to  expedite  the  affairs  of 
our  pot  and  kettle,  we  feel  we  have  not  yet  put  it  to  its 
use,  neither  are  able.  We  are  like  travelers  using  the 
ashes  of  a  volcano  to  roast  their  eggs." 

The  chapter  on  Language  thus  concludes, 
iterating  and  reiterating  much  that  had  been 
said  before,  and  bringing  all  to  a  single  point : 


128  EMERSON. 

THE    MYSTERY    OF   THE   TTNIVEBSE. 

"  The  relation  between  mind  and  Nature  is  not  fan 
cied  by  some  poet,  but  stands  in  the  will  of  God,  and 
so  is  free  to  be  known  by  all  men.  It  appears  to  men, 
or  it  does  not  appear.  When  in  fortunate  hours  we  pon 
der  over  this  miracle,  the  wiser  man  doubts,  if  at  all 
other  times  he  is  not  blind  and  deaf.  For  the  universe 
becomes  transparent,  and  the  light  of  higher  laws  than 
its  own  shines  through  it.  It  is  the  standing  problem 
which  has  exercised  the  wonder  and  the  study  of  every 
fine  genius  since  the  world  began ;  from  the  era  of  the 
Egyptians  and  Brahmans  to  that  of  Pythagoras  and  Plato, 
of  Bacon,  of  Leibnitz,  of  Swedenborg.  There  sits  the 
Sphinx  at  the  roadside,  and  from  age  to  age,  as  each 
prophet  comes  by,  he  tries  his  fortune  at  reading  her  rid 
dle.  There  seems  to  be  a  necessity  in  spirit  to  manifest 
itself  in  material  forms ;  and  day  and  night,  river  and 
storm,  beast  and  bird,  acid  and  alkali,  preexist  in  neces 
sary  ideas  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  are  what  they  are  by 
virtue  of  preceding  affections  in  the  world  of  spirit.  A 
fact  is  the  end  or  last  issue  of  spirit.  The  visible  crea 
tion  is  the  termination  or  the  circumference  of  the  in 
visible  world.  *  Material  objects,'  said  a  French  philoso 
pher,  *are  necessary  kinds  of  scoriae  of  the  substantial 
thoughts  of  the  Creator,  which  must  always  preserve  an 
exact  relation  to  their  first  origin ;  in  other  words,  visi 
ble  nature  must  have  a  spiritual  and  moral  side.1 " 

It  would  be  curious,  were  it  worth  the  while, 
to  compare  this  view  of  the  relation  between  the 
Creator  and  the  created  with  that  wrought  out 
with  such  infinite  speculation  by  the  Gnostics, 
a  millennium  and  a  half  ago,  and  by  Hindoo 


NATURE.  129 

sages  who  lived  and  thought  a  thousand  years 
before.  They  argue  and  refine ;  build  theories 
one  upon  another,  as  the  old  astronomers  piled 
epicycles  upon  cycle  and  epicycle,  as  each  new 
discovery  in  relation  to  the  movements  of  the 
stars  and  planets  demanded  a  new  law  to  account 
for  each  new  fact.  Copernicus  swept  all  these 
away  by  stating  the  one  central  law  which  gov 
erns  our  solar  system,  that  the  earth  revolves 
upon  its  own  axis,  and  also  circles  around  the  sun  ; 
and  so  that  the  apparent  movements  of  the  stars 
are  imaginary,  not  real.  Emerson  affirms,  in  sub 
stance,  that  there  is  such  a  law  in  the  universe  of 
existence.  The  foregoing  is  the  nearest  approach 
which  we  can  find  to  a  statement  of  what  that 
law  is,  so  far  as  relates  to  material  and  spiritual 
facts.  To  us,  we  acknowledge  that  we  have  not 
been  able  to  attain  to  any  clear  conception  of  the 
teaching,  and  await  some  expositor  to  elucidate 
it.  None  such  has  shown  himself  to  us.  It  is  a 
Sphinx  riddle.  Emerson  so  styles  it.  He  says  : 

THE    SPHINX    EIDDLE. 

"  This  doctrine  is  abstruse,  and  though  the  images  of 
'garment,'  'scoria},'  'mirror,'  etc.,  may  stimulate  the 
fancy,  we  must  summon  the  aid  of  subtler  and  more  vital 
expositors  to  make  it  plain.  l  Every  scripture  is  to  be 
interpreted  by  the  same  spirit  which  gave  it  forth,'  is 
the  fundamental  law  of  criticism.  A  life  in  harmony 
with  Nature,  the  love  of  truth  and  of  virtue,  will  purge 
the  eyes  to  understand  her  text.  By  degrees  we  may 
9 


130  EMERSON. 

come  to  know  the  primitive  sense  of  the  permanent  ob- 
jects  of  Nature,  so  that  the  world  shall  he  to  us  an  open 
book,  and  every  form  significant  of  its  hidden  life  and 
final  cause." 

Forty  years  passed  between  the  appearance  of 
this  book  and  the  date  of  the  last  of  Emerson's 
writings ;  and  yet  we  do  not  find  that  he  has 
come  any  nearer  to  the  explication  of  this 
Sphinx  riddle.  We  read  his  address  before  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Cambridge,  delivered 
in  1867.  It  is  as  eloquent  as  anything  which  he 
eyer  wrote  or  spoke.  The  old  doctrine  is  repeated 
with  added  emphasis  and  new  wealth  of  illus 
tration.  He  really  seems  to  have  reached  in  his 
own  consciousness  to  a  definite  apprehension  upon 
the  matter  in  question.  Yet  to  us  the  whole 
stands  just  as  before.  Thus,  he  says  : 

THE   UNITY    OF    ALL   THINGS. 

"  Shall  we  study  the  mathematics  of  the  sphere,  and 
not  its  causal  essence  also  ?  Nature  is  a  fable  whose 
moral  blazes  through  it.  There  is  no  use  in  Copernicus 
if  the  robust  periodicity  of  the  solar  system  does  not 
show  its  equal  perfection  in  the  mental  sphere :  the 
periodicity,  the  compensating  errors,  the  grand  reactions. 
I  shall  never  believe  that  centrifugence  and  centripe- 
tence  balance  unless  mind  heats  and  meliorates  as  well 
the  surface  and  soil  of  the  globe.  On  this  power,  this 
all  dissolving  unity,  the  emphasis  of  heaven  and  earth 
is  laid.  Nature  is  brute  but  as  the  soul  quickens  it; 
Nature  always  the  effect,  Mind  the  flowing  cause.  Mind 


NATURE.  131 

carries  the  law  ;  history  is  the  slow  and  atomic  unfold 
ing. 

"Every  inch  of  the  mountains  is  scarred  by  unimag 
inable  convulsions,  yet  the  new  day  is  purple  with  the 
bloom  of  youth  and  love.  Look  out  into  the  July  night, 
and  see  the  broad  belt  of  silver  flame  which  flashes  up 
the  half  of  heaven,  fresh  and  delicate  as  the  bonfires  of 
the  meadow  flies.  Yet  the  powers  of  numbers  can  not 
compute  its  enormous  age ;  lasting  as  time  and  space — 
imbosomed  in  time  and  space.  And  time  and  space, 
what  are  they  ?  Oar  first  problems,  which  we  ponder 
all  our  lives  through,  and  leave  where  we  found  them ; 
whose  outrunning  immensity,  as  the  old  Greeks  be 
lieved,  astonished  the  gods  themselves ;  of  whose  dizzy 
vastitudes  all  the  worlds  of  God  are  a  mere  dot  on  the 
margin  :  impossible  to  deny,  impossible  to  believe.  Yet 
the  moral  element  in  man  counterpoises  this  dismaying 
immensity,  and  bereaves  it  of  terror." 

This  is  certainly  nowise  in  contravention  of 
the  sublime  truth  with  which  the  Hebrew  Scrip 
tures  open  :  "In  the  beginning,  God  created  the 
heavens  and  the  earth. "  But  it  seems  to  us  to  be 
intended  to  convey  far  more  than  is  implied  in 
that  terse  phrase.  Fail  as  we  may  to  at  all  assure 
ourselves  that  we  have  reached  the  center  core  of 
Emerson's  philosophy,  we  are  at  least  prepared 
to  say  with  him  :  "  A  new  interest  surprises  us, 
whilst,  under  the  view  now  suggested,  we  con 
template  the  fearful  extent  and  multitude  of  ob 
jects,  since  every  object,  rightly  seen,  unlocks  a 
new  faculty  of  the  soul.  That  which  was  uncon- 


132  EMERSON. 

scious  truth  becomes,  when  interpreted  and  de 
fined  in  an  object,  a  part  of  the  domain  of 
knowledge — a  new  weapon  in  the  magazine  of 
power."  And  truths  not  a  few,  which  had  lain, 
as  it  were,  dormant  in  our  consciousness,  have  by 
him  come  to  be  so  alive  that,  as  with  Grimm, 
they  are  as  new  to  us  as  though  we  had  never 
heard  them  before,  and  as  old  as  though  they  had 
always  been  parts  of  our  intellectual  being. 

In  the  chapter  on  "  Discipline  "  are  grouped 
together  a  series  of  suggestions  touching  closely 
upon  what  has  before  been  said  under  the  title  of 
"Commodity."  Still,  there  is  valid  reason  for 
thus  grouping  them. 

DISCIPLINE. 

"  In  view  of  the  significance  of  Nature,  we  arrive  at 
once  at  a  new  fact,  that  Nature  is  a  '  discipline.'  This 
use  of  the  word  includes  the  preceding  uses  as  parts  of 
itself.  Space,  time,  society,  labor,  climate,  food,  loco 
motion,  the  animals,  the  mechanical  forces,  give  us  sin- 
cerest  lessons  day  by  day,  whose  meaning  is  unlimited. 
They  educate  both  the  understanding  and  the  reason. 
Every  property  of  matter  is  a  school  for  the  understand 
ing,  its  stolidity,  or  resistance,  its  inertia,  its  extension, 
its  figure,  its  divisibility.  The  understanding  adds,  di 
vides,  combines,  measures,  and  finds  nutriment  and  room 
for  its  activity  in  these  worthy  scenes.  Meanwhile, 
reason  transfers  its  own  lessons  into  its  own  world  of 
thought  by  perceiving  the  analogy  that  marries  matter 
and  mind." 


NATURE.  133 

A  few  isolated  sentences  will,  in  some  fair 
degree,  set  forth  the  general  aim  and  scope  of 
this  chapter  on  "Discipline." 

DISCIPLINE    OF   THE   UNDEESTANDING. 

"  Nature  is  a  discipline  of  the  understanding  in  intel 
lectual  truths.  Our  dealing  with  sensible  objects  is  a 
constant  exercise  in  the  necessary  lessons  of  difference, 
of  likeness,  of  order,  of  being  and  seeming,  of  progress 
ive  arrangement,  of  ascent  from  particular  to  general,  of 
combination  to  one  end  of  manifold  purposes.  Propor 
tioned  to  the  importance  of  the  organ,  is  the  extreme 
care  with  which  its  tuition  is  provided.  What  tedious 
training,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  never  ending,  to 
form  the  common  sense,  what  continual  reproduction 
of  annoyances,  inconveniences,  dilemmas,  what  rejoic 
ings  over  little  men,  what  disputing  of  prices,  what  reck 
onings  of  interest !  and  all  to  form  the  hand  of  the  mind, 
to  instruct  us  that  'good  thoughts  are  no  better  than 
good  dreams  unless  they  be  executed." 

DISCIPLINE   BY    PEOPEETY. 

"The  same  good  office  is  performed  by  property, 
and  its  filial  systems  of  debt  and  credit.  Debt,  grinding 
debt,  which  consumes  so  much  time,  which  so  cripples 
and  disheartens  a  great  spirit  with  cares  that  seem  so 
base,  is  a  preceptor  whose  lessons  can  not  be  foregone, 
and  is  needed  most  by  those  who  suffer  from  it  most. 
Moreover,  property,  which  has  been  well  compared  to 
snow — '  if  it  fall  level  to-day,  it  will  be  blown  into  drifts 
to-morrow  ' — is  the  surface  action  of  internal  machinery, 
like  the  index  on  the  face  of  the  clock.  Whilst  now  it  is 


134  EMERSON. 

the  gymnastics  of  the  understanding,  it  is  hiving  in  the 
foresight  of  the  spirit-experience  in  profounder  laws." 

DISCIPLINE   BY   DIFFEKENOES. 

"  The  whole  character  and  fortune  of  the  individual 
are  affected  by  the  least  inequalities  of  the  understand 
ing.  For  example,  in  the  perception  of  differences.  A 
bell  and  a  plow  have  each  their  use,  and  neither  can 
do  the  office  of  the  other.  Water  is  good  to  drink, 
coal  to  burn,  wool  to  wear ;  but  wool  can  not  be  drank, 
nor  water  spun,  nor  coal  eaten.  The  wise  man  shows 
his  wisdom  in  separation,  in  gradation ;  and  his  scale  of 
creatures  and  of  merits  is  as  wide  as  Nature.  The 
foolish  have  no  range  in  their  scale.  What  is  not  good 
they  call  the  worst,  and  what  is  not  hateful  they  call 
the  best." 

DISCIPLINE    OF   THE    WILL. 

"The  exercise  of  the  will  is  perpetually  taught  in 
every  event.  From  the  child's  successive  possession  of 
his  several  senses,  up  to  the  hour  when  he  saith  *  Thy 
will  be  done,'  he  is  learning  the  secret  that  he  can  re 
duce  under  his  will  not  only  particular  events  but  great 
classes ;  nay,  the  whole  series  of  events,  and  so  conform 
all  facts  to  his  character.  Nature  is  thoroughly  mediate. 
It  is  made  to  serve ;  it  receives  the  dominion  of  man  as 
meekly  as  the  ass  on  which  our  Saviour  rode.  It  offers 
all  its  kingdoms  to  man  as  the  raw  materials  which  he 
may  mold  into  what  is  useful;  and  he  is  never  weary  in 
working  it  up.  He  forges  the  delicate  and  subtile  air 
into  wise  and  melodious  words,  and  gives  them  wings  as 
angels  of  persuasion  and  command.  One  after  another, 
his  victorious  thought  comes  up  with  and  reduces  all 


NATURE.  135 

things,  until  the  world  becomes,  at  last,  only  a  realized 
Will— the  double  of  man." 


DISCIPLINE    OF    THE   EEASON. 

"Sensible  objects  conform  to  the  premonitions  of 
reason  and  reflect  the  conscience.  All  things  are 
moral,  and  in  their  boundless  changes  have  an  unceasing 
reference  to  spiritual  nature.  .  .  .  Therefore  is  Nature 
ever  the  ally  of  religion — lends  all  her  pomp  and  riches 
to  the  religious  sentiment.  Prophet  and  priest— David 
Isaiah,  Jesus — have  drawn  deeply  from  this  source. 
This  ethical  character  so  penetrates  the  boue  and  mar 
row  of  Nature  as  to  seem  the  end  for  which  it  was 
made.  Whatever  private  purpose  is  answered  by  any 
member  or  its  part,  this  is  its  public  and  universal  func 
tion,  and  is  never  omitted.  Nothing  in  Nature  is  ex 
hausted  by  its  first  use.  In  God  everything  is  converted 
into  a  new  means.  Every  natural  process  is  a  version 
of  a  moral  sentence.  The  moral  law  lies  at  the  center 
of  Nature,  and  radiates  to  its  circumference.  All  things 
with  which  we  deal  preach  to  us.  What  is  a  farm  but  a 
mute  gospel  ?  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  this  moral 
sentiment  which  thus  scents  the  air  grows  in  the  grain, 
and  ^impregnates  the  waters  of  the  world,  is  caught  by 
man  and  sinks  into  his  soul.  The  moral  influence  of 
Nature  upon  every  individual  is  that  amount  of  truth 
which  it  illustrates  to  him.  Who  can  estimate  this? 
Who  can  guess  how  much  firmness  the  sea-beaten  rock 
has  taught  the  fisherman  ?  how  much  tranquillity  has 
been  reflected  to  man  from  the  azure  sky?  how  much 
industry  and  providence  and  affection  we  have  caught 
from  the  pantomime  of  brutes?  What  a  searching 


136  EMERSON. 

preacher  of  self-command  is  the  varying  phenomenon  of 
health !  " 

UNITY  IN  VARIETY. 

"Herein  is  especially  apprehended  the  unity  of 
Nature — the  unity  in  variety  which  meets  us  every 
where.  The  fable  of  Proteus  has  a  cordial  truth.  A 
leaf,  a  drop,  a  crystal,  a  moment  of  time,  is  related  to  the 
whole.  Each  particle  is  a  microcosm,  and  faithfully 
renders  the  likeness  of  the  world." 

This  idea  of  unity  in  variety  is  illustrated 
under  various  forms.  "Not  only  resemblances 
exist  in  things  whose  analogy  is  obvious,  as  when 
we  detect  the  type  of  the  human  hand  in  the  flip 
per  of  the  fossil  saurus,  but  also  in  objects  where 
in  there  is  great  superficial  unlikeness."  Thus, 
architecture  is  styled  "frozen  music"  by  De 
Stae'l  and  Goethe.  Coleridge  said  that  a  Gothic 
church  is  a  "  petrified  religion."  Michel  Angelo 
maintained  that  to  an  architect  a  knowledge  of 
anatomy  is  essential.  And,  says  Emerson  :  "In 
Haydn's  oratorios  the  notes  present  to  the  imag 
ination  not  only  motions,  as  of  the  snake,  the 
stag,  or  the  elephant,  but  colors  also,  as  of  the 
green  grass.  The  law  of  harmonic  sounds  reap 
pears  in  the  harmonic  colors.  The  granite  is  dif 
ferenced,  in  its  laws,  only  by  the  more  or  less  of 
heat,  from  the  river  which  it  wears  away.  The 
river,  as  it  flows,  resembles  the  air  that  flows  over 
it ;  the  air  resembles  the  light  which  traverses  it 
with  more  subtile  currents;  the  light  resembles 


NATURE.  137 

the  heat  which  rides  with  it  through  space.  Each 
creature  is  only  a  modification  of  the  other ;  the 
likeness  in  them  is  more  than  the  difference,  and 
their  radical  law  is  one  and  the  same.  A  rule  of 
one  art  or  a  law  of  one  organization  holds  true 
throughout  Nature." 

UNITY    OF    THOUGHT    AND    OF    ACTION. 

"  So  intimate  is  this  unity  that  it  lies  under  the  un 
dermost  garment  of  Nature,  and  betrays  its  source  in 
universal  spirit.  For  it  pervades  Thought  also.  Every 
universal  truth  which  we  express  in  words  implies  or 
supposes  every  other  truth :  '  Omne  verum  vero  conso 
nant.'  It  is  like  a  great  circle  on  a  sphere,  comprising 
all  possible  circles,  which,  however,  may  be  drawn  and 
comprise  it  in  like  manner.  Every  such  truth  is  the  ab 
solute  ens,  seen  from  one  side ;  but  it  has  innumerable 
sides.  The  central  unity  is  still  more  conspicuous  in 
actions.  Words  are  finite  organs  of  the  infinite  mind. 
They  can  not  cover  the  dimensions  of  what  there  is  in 
truth.  They  break,  chop,  and  impoverish  it.  An  action 
is  the  perfection  and  publication  of  thought.  A  right 
action  seems  to  fill  the  eye  and  to  be  related  to  all 
Nature.  '  The  wise  man  in  doing  one  thing '  does  all ; 
or  in  the  one  thing  he  does  rightly  he  sees  the  likeness 
of  all  which  is  done  rightly." 

One  sentence  in  the  foregoing  extract  should 
be  borne  in  mind  by  any  one  who  hopes  to  fairly 
enter  into  the  philosophy  of  Emerson:  "Every 
truth  is  the  absolute  ens,  seen  from  one  side  ;  but 
it  has  innumerable  sides."  Without  pausing  to 


138  EMERSON. 

inquire  whether  a  finite  mind  can  ever  attain  to  a 
yiew  of  all  these  innumerable  sides  at  a  glance,  it 
is  fairly  to  be  doubted  whether  such  a  mind  can 
ever  express  it  in  any  form  of  human  speech.  We 
indeed  remember  the  hope  expressed  by  Emerson 
in  his  " Divinity  Address "  :  "I  look  for  the  new 
teacher  that  shall  follow  so  far  these  shining  laws 
that  he  shall  see  them  come  full  circle  ;  shall  see 
their  rounding,  complete  grace  ;  shall  see  the 
world  to  be  the  mirror  of  the  soul ;  shall  see  the 
identity  of  the  law  of  gravitation  with  purity  of 
thought ;  and  show  that  the  ought,  that  duty,  is 
one  thing  with  science,  with  beauty,  and  with 
joy."  But  while  Emerson  affirms  perpetually 
that  this  is  so — nay,  if  one  pleases  to  hold,  shows 
that  it  ought  to  be  so — he  has  not  to  our  feeling 
shown  that  it  is  really  so.  We  own  that  we  do 
not  at  all  see  that,  for  example,  the  law  of  gravi 
tation  is  in  any  way  identical  with  purity  of 
heart. 

A  very  notable  chapter  in  this  book  of  "  Nat 
ure  "is  that  upon  "Idealism."  At  first  thought 
one  might  suppose  that  there  could  be  no  reason 
for  such  a  separate  chapter,  for  Idealism  runs 
through  every  other  chapter  like  a  golden  thread. 
But  he  had,  in  fact,  very  good  reasons  for  what 
he  did.  He  plunges  into  the  subject  in  the  very 
opening  sentence,  which  seems,  at  least  hypothet- 
ically,  to  contravene  everything  which  had  gone 
before.  Nature  had  been  everywhere  treated  as 


NATURE.  139 

though  it  were  an  absolute  reality ;  but  now  he 
suggests  the  contrary  idea,  that  it  is  only  an  ap 
pearance,  or,  as  represented  by  the  Hindoo  sages, 
only  a  series  of  shows  and  deceptions,  through 
which  the  Supreme  Mind  alternately  reveals  or 
conceals  himself. 

REALITY    OE   UNREALITY    OF    NATURE. 

"  A  noble  doubt  perpetually  suggests  itself  whether 
this  end  of  discipline  be  not  the  final  cause  of  the  uni 
verse,  and  whether  Nature  outwardly  exists.  It  is  a 
sufficient  account  of  that  appearance  which  we  call  the 
world  that  God  will  teach  a  human  mind,  and  so  makes 
it  the  receiver  of  a  certain  number  of  congruent  sensa 
tions,  which  we  call  sun  and  moon,  man  and  woman, 
house  and  trade.  In  my  utter  impotence  to  test  the  au 
thenticity  of  the  report  of  my  senses — to  know  whether 
the  impressions  they  make  upon  me  correspond  with 
outlying  objects — what  difference  does  it  make  whether 
Orion  is  up  there  in  heaven  or  some  god  paints  the  image 
in  the  firmament  of  the  soul  ?  The  relations  of  parts 
and  the  end  of  the  whole  remaining  the  same,  what  is 
the  difference  whether  land  and  sea  interact  and  worlds 
revolve  and  intermingle  without  number  or  end — deep 
yawning  under  deep  and  galaxy  balancing  galaxy  through 
out  absolute  space — or  whether,  without  relations  of 
time  and  space,  the  same  appearances  are  inscribed  in 
the  constant  faith  of  man  ?  " 

In  the  last  number  but  one  of  "The  Dial," 
then  edited  by  Mr.  Emerson,  is  a  paper  on  "  The 
Preaching  of  Buddha,"  preceded  by  an  extract 


140  EMERSON. 

from  Eugene  Bournouf  s  account  of  the  purport 
of  the  doctrines  of  Buddha.  These  teachings 
carry  the  theory  of  ideality  to  the  very  utmost 
point  conceivable  by  man.  "This  teaching," 
says  Bournouf,  "is  that  the  visible  world  is  in  a 
perpetual  change ;  that  death  proceeds  to  life, 
and  life  to  death ;  that  man,  like  all  the  living 
beings  who  surround  him,  revolves  in  the  eter 
nally  round  of  transmigration;  that  he  passes 
successively  through  all  forms  of  life,  from  the 
most  elementary  up  to  the  most  perfect ;  that  the 
place  which  he  occupies  in  the  vast  scale  of  living 
beings  depends  on  the  merits  of  the  actions  which 
he  performs  in  this  world ;  that  the  rewards  of 
heaven  and  the  pains  of  hell,  like  all  which  this 
world  contains,  have  only  a  limited  duration  ; 
that  time  exhausts  the  merit  of  virtuous  actions, 
and  eifaces  the  evil  of  bad  actions  ;  and  that  the 
fatal  law  of  change  brings  back  to  earth  both  the 
god  and  the  devil,  to  put  both  again  on  trial,  and 
cause  them  to  run  a  new  course  of  transmigration. 
The  hope  which  Buddha  came  to  bring  to  men 
was  the  possibility  of  escaping  from  the  law  of 
transmigration  by  entering  what  he  calls  '  enfran 
chisement  '  :  that  is  to  say,  according  to  one  of 
the  oldest  schools,  the  annihilation  of  the  think 
ing  principle  as  well  as  of  the  material  principle. 
This  annihilation  is  not  entire  until  death  ;  but 
he  who  was  destined  to  attain  to  it  possessed  dur 
ing  his  life  an  unlimited  science,  which  gave  him 


NATURE.  141 

the  pure  view  of  the  world  as  it  is."  And  one  of 
the  earliest  disciples  of  Buddha  said,  in  phrase 
almost  Emersonian  :  "Annihilation  results  from 
the  comprehension  of  the  equality  of  all  laws  ; 
there  is  only  one,  and  not  two  or  three.  .  .  .  Know 
that  what  is  clearness  is  obscurity  ;  know  also 
that  what  is  obscurity  is  clearness.  .  .  .  What  I 
have  said  is  the  supreme  truth  ;  may  my  auditors 
arrive  at  complete  annihilation  ! " 

Emerson  goes  in  a  quite  different  direction.  He 
assumes  the  actual  unending  existence  of  the  me. 
Buddhism  practically  denies  it,  while  nominally 
affirming  it,  for  in  no  sense  which  we  are  capable 
of  apprehending  can  that  which  was  once  a  rep 
tile,  and  may  become  so  again,  be  identical  with 
the  me  which  is  now  a  man.  It  lacks  the  essen 
tial  quality  of  continuous  self -consciousness  ;  and, 
moreover,  absolute  annihilation  is  the  end  to  be 
striven  for  by  all,  and  to  be  attained  by  those 
who  are  found  worthy  of  it.  Buddhism  affirms 
the  actual  existence  of  the  world  without  us ; 
Emerson  more  than  half  doubts  it.  But,  after 
all,  he  regards  the  question  whether  Nature  be  an 
absolute  reality  or  merely  an  appearance  to  be 
of  little  consequence.  Indeed,  he  seems  rather 
to  incline  to  the  latter  view,  although  either  is  sat 
isfactory  enough  to  him.  He  says  : 

SUBJECTIVE    IDEALISM. 

"  Whether  Nature  enjoys  a  substantial  existence  with 
out,  or  is  only  in  the  apocalypse  of  the  mind,  it  is  alike 


142  EMERSON. 

useful  and  alike  venerable  to  me.  Be  it  what  it  may,  it 
is  ideal  to  me  so  long  as  I  can  not  try  the  accuracy  of 
my  senses.  But,  while  we  acquiesce  entirely  in  the  per 
manence  of  natural  laws,  the  question  of  the  absolute 
existence  of  Nature  remains  still  open.  It  is  the  uniform 
effect  of  culture  on  the  human  mind  not  to  shake  our 
faith  in  the  stability  of  particular  phenomena,  as  of  heat, 
water,  azote,  but  to  lead  us  to  regard  Nature  as  a  phe 
nomenon,  not  a  substance ;  to  attribute  necessary  ex 
istence  to  spirit ;  to  esteem  Nature  as  an  accident  and 
an  effect." 

He  goes  on  to  frame  a  defense  of  this  ideal 
theory,  as  propounded  by  him  : 

DEFENSE    OF   IDEALISM. 

"  The  frivolous  make  themselves  merry  with  this 
ideal  theory,  as  if  its  consequences  were  burlesque,  as  if 
it  affected  the  stability  of  Nature.  It  surely  does  not. 
God  never  jests  with  us,  and  will  not  compromise  the 
end  of  Nature  by  permitting  any  inconsequence  in  its 
procession.  Any  distrust  of  the  permanence  of  laws 
would  paralyze  the  faculties  of  man.  Their  permanence 
is  sacredly  respected,  and  his  faith  therein  is  perfect. 
The  wheels  and  springs  of  man  are  all  set  to  the  hypothe 
sis  of  the  permanence  of  Nature.  We  are  not  built  like 
a  bhip,  to  be  tossed,  but  like  a  house,  to  stand.  It  is  a 
natural  consequence  of  this  structure  that,  so  long  as  the 
active  powers  predominate  over  the  reflective,  we  resist 
with  indignation  any  hint  that  Nature  is  more  short 
lived  or  mutable  than  spirit.  The  broker,  the  wheel 
wright,  the  carpenter,  the  tollman,  are  much  displeased 
at  the  intimation.  To  the  senses  and  the  unrenewed 


NATURE.  143 

understanding  belongs,  indeed,  a  sort  of  instinctive  be 
lief  in  the  absolute  existence  of  Nature.  In  their  view, 
man  and  Nature  are  indissolubly  joined.  Things  are 
ultimate,  and  they  never  look  beyond  their  sphere.  The 
presence  of  reason  mars  this  faith.  The  first  effort  of 
thought  tends  to  relax  this  despotism  of  the  senses, 
which  bends  us  to  Nature  as  if  we  were  a  part  of  it,  and 
shows  us  Nature  aloof  and,  as  it  were,  afloat.  Until  this 
higher  agency  intervenes,  the  animal  eye  sees  with 
wonderful  accuracy  sharp  outlines  and  colored  surfaces. 
When  the  eye  of  reason  opens,  to  outline  and  surface 
are  at  once  added  grace  and  expression.  These  proceed 
from  imagination  and  reflection,  and  abate  somewhat  of 
the  angular  distinctness  of  objects.  If  the  reason  be 
stimulated  to  more  earnest  vision,  outlines  and  surfaces 
become  transparent  and  are  no  longer  seen ;  causes  and 
spirits  are  seen  through  them.  The  best  moments  of 
life  are  those  delicious  awakenings  of  the  higher  powers, 
and  the  reverential  withdrawing  of  Nature  before  its 
God." 

From  this  ideal  point  of  view  Emerson  goes 
on  to  enumerate  some  special  views  as  to  the 
effects  of  culture  upon  the  human  mind.  Even 
in  the  lower  grades  of  culture,  "  Nature  is  made 
to  conspire  with  spirit  to  emancipate  us.  Certain 
mechanical  changes,  a  small  alteration  in  our 
local  position,  apprise  us  of  a  dualism.  We  are 
strangely  affected  by  seeing  the  shore  from  a  mov 
ing  ship,  from  a  balloon,  or  through  the  tints  of 
an  unusual  sky.  The  least  change  in  our  point 
of  view  gives  the  whole  world  a  pictorial  air.  A 


144  EMERSON. 

man  who  seldom  rides  needs  only  to  get  into  a 
coach  and  traverse  his  own  town,  to  turn  the 
street  into  a  puppet-show.  What  new  thoughts 
are  suggested  by  seeing  a  face  of  country  quite 
familiar  in  the  rapid  movements  of  the  railroad 
car  ! "  And  so  on.  "  In  these  cases/'  says  Emer 
son,  "  by  mechanical  means  is  suggested  the  dif 
ference  between  the  observer  and  the  spectacle, 
between  man  and  Nature.  Hence  arises  a  pleasure 
mixed  with  awe.  I  may  say  that  a  low  degree  of 
the  sublime  is  felt  from  the  fact,  probably,  that 
the  man  is  apprised  that,  while  the  world  is  a 
spectacle,  something  in  himself  is  stable."  But 
similar  in  kind,  but  far  higher  in  effect,  is  the 
ideal  ministry  of  poetry,  philosophy,  and  reli 
gion. 

THE   IDEAL   IN   POETRY. 

"In  a  higher  manner  the  poet  communicates  the 
same  pleasure.  By  a  few  strokes  he  delineates,  as  on 
air,  the  sun,  the  mountain,  the  camp,  the  city,  the  hero, 
the  maiden — not  different  from  what  we  know  them, 
but  only  lifted  from  the  ground  and  afloat  before  the  eye. 
He  unfixes  the  land  and  the  sea,  makes  them  revolve 
around  the  axis  of  his  primary  thought,  and  disposes 
them  anew.  Possessed  himself  by  a  heroic  passion,  he 
uses  matter  as  symbols  of  it.  The  sensual  man  conforms 
thoughts  to  things ;  the  poet  conforms  things  to  his 
thoughts.  The  one  esteems  Nature  as  rooted  and  fast ; 
the  other  as  fluid,  and  impresses  his  being  thereon.  To 
him  the  refractory  world  is  ductile  and  flexible ;  he  in 
vests  dust  and  stones  with  humanity,  and  makes  them 


NATURE.  145 

the  words  of  the  reason.  The  imagination  may  be  de 
fined  to  be  the  use  which  the  reason  makes  of  the  ma 
terial  world.  Shakespeare  possesses  the  power  of  sub 
ordinating  Nature  for  the  purposes  of  expression  beyond 
all  poets.  His  imperial  muse  tosses  the  creation  like  a 
bauble  from  hand  to  hand,  and  uses  it  to  embody  any 
caprice  of  thought  that  is  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The 
remotest  spaces  of  Nature  are  visited,  and  the  farthest- 
sundered  things  are  brought  together  by  a  subtle  spiritual 
connection.  We  are  made  aware  that  the  magnitude  of 
material  things  is  relative,  and  all  objects  shrink  and  ex 
pand  to  serve  the  passion  of  the  poet.  The  perception 
of  real  affinities  between  events  (that  is  to  say,  of  ideal 
affinities,  for  these  only  are  real)  enables  the  poet  thus 
to  make  free  with  the  most  imposing  forms  and  phe 
nomena  of  the  world,  and  to  assert  the  predominance  of 
the  soul." 

THE   IDEAL   IN   PHILOSOPHY. 

"  Whilst  the  poet  thus  animates  Nature  with  his  own 
thoughts,  he  differs  from  the  philosopher  only  herein : 
that  the  one  proposes  beauty  as  his  main  end ;  the  other 
proposes  truth.  But  the  philosopher,  not  less  than 
the  poet,  postpones  the  apparent  order  and  relations  of 
things  to  the  empire  of  thought.  *  The  problem  of  phi 
losophy,'  according  to  Plato,  *  is  for  all  that  exists  con 
ditionally  to  find  a  ground  unconditioned  and  absolute.' 
It  proceeds  on  the  faith  that  a  law  determines  all  phe 
nomena,  which  being  known,  the  phenomenon  can  be 
predicted.  That  law,  when  in  the  mind,  is  an  idea.  Its 
beauty  is  infinite.  The  true  philosopher  and  the  true 
poet  are  one ;  and  a  beauty  which  is  faith,  and  a  truth 
which  is  beauty,  is  the  aim  of  both.  Is  not  the  charm 
of  one  of  Plato's  or  Aristotle's  definitions  strictly  like  the 
10 


146 


EMERSON. 


1  Antigone '  of  Sophocles  ?  It  is,  in  both  cases,  that  a 
spiritual  life  has  been  imparted  to  Nature;  that  the 
solid-seeming  block  of  matter  has  been  pervaded  and 
dissolved  by  a  thought ;  that  this  feeble  human  being 
has  penetrated  the  vast  masses  of  Nature  with  an  inform 
ing  soul,  and  recognized  itself  in  their  harmony— that  is, 
seized  their  law.  In  physics,  when  this  is  attained,  the 
memory  disburdens  itself  of  its  cumbrous  catalogues  of 
particulars,  and  carries  centuries  of  observation  in  a 
single  formula.  Thus,  even  in  physics,  the  material  is 
degraded  before  the  spiritual.  The  astronomer,  the  ge 
ometer,  rely  on  their  irrefragable  analysis,  and  disdain 
the  results  of  observation.  The  sublime  remark  of  Eu- 
ler  on  his  law  of  arches :  '  This  will  be  found  contrary 
to  all  experience,  yet  it  is  true,'  had  already  transferred 
Nature  into  the  mind,  and  left  matter  like  an  outcast 
corpse." 

THE   IDEAL  IN    KELIGION   AND    ETHICS. 

"  Religion  and  ethics— which  may  be  fitly  called  the 
practice  of  ideas,  or  the  introduction  of  ideas  into  life — 
have  an  analogous  effect  with  all  lower  culture  in  de 
grading  Nature,  and  suggesting  its  dependence  on  spirit. 
Ethics  and  religion  differ  herein:  that  the  one  is  the 
system  of  human  duties  commencing  from  man ;  the 
other,  from  God.  Religion  includes  the  personality  of 
God  ;  ethics  does  not.  They  are  one  to  our  present  de 
sign.  They  both  put  Nature  under  foot.  The  first  and 
last  lesson  of  religion  is,  '  The  things  which  are  seen  are 
temporal ;  the  things  which  are  unseen  are  eternal.'  It 
does  that  for  the  unschooled  which  philosophy  does  for 
Berkeley  and  Yiasa.  The  uniform  language  that  may 
be  heard  in  the  churches  of  the  most  ignorant  sects  is, 
'  Contemn  the  unsubstantial  shows  of  the  world ;  they 


NATURE.  147 

are  vanities,  dreams,  shadows,  unrealities ;  seek  the  re 
alities  of  religion.'  The  devotee  flouts  Nature.  Some 
theosophists  have  arrived  at  a  certain  hostility  toward 
matter ;  as  the  Manichaaans  and  Plotinus.  In  short, 
they  might  say  of  all  matter  what  Michel  Angelo  said  of 
external  beauty :  'It  is  the  frail  and  weary  weed  in 
which  God  dresses  the  soul  which  he  has  called  into 
time.'  " 

ADVANTAGE  OF  THE  IDEAL  THEORY. 

"  The  advantage  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the  popular 
faith  is  this  :  that  it  presents  the  world  in  precisely  that 
view  which  is  most  desirable  to  the  mind.  It  is,  in  fact, 
the  view  which  reason,  both  speculative  and  practical — 
that  is,  philosophy  and  virtue — take.  For,  seen  in  the 
light  of  thought,  the  world  is  always  phenomenal ;  and 
virtue  subordinates  it  to  the  mind.  Idealism  sees  the 
world  in  God.  It  beholds  the  whole  circle  of  persons 
and  things,  of  actions  and  events,  of  country  and  religion, 
not  as  painfully  accumulated,  atom  after  atom,  act  after 
act,  in  an  aged  and  creeping  past,  but  as  one  vast  pic 
ture,  which  God  paints  on  the  instant  eternity  for  the 
contemplation  of  the  soul.  Therefore,  the  soul  holds 
itself  off  from  a  too  trivial  and  microscopic  study  of  the 
universal  tablet.  It  respects  the  end  too  much  to  im 
merse  itself  in  the  means.  It  sees  something  more  im 
portant  in  Christianity  than  the  scandals  of  ecclesiastical 
history  or  the  niceties  of  criticism ;  and,  very  incurious 
concerning  persons  or  miracles,  and  not  at  all  disturbed 
by  chasms  of  historical  evidence,  it  accepts  from  God 
the  phenomenon  as  it  finds  it,  as  the  pure  and  awful  form 
of  religion  in  the  world.  It  is  not  hot  and  passionate 
at  the  appearance  of  what  it  calls  its  own  good  or  bad 
fortune,  at  the  union  or  opposition  of  other  persons. 


148  EMERSON. 

No  man  is  its  enemy.  It  accepts  whatsoever  befalls  as  a 
part  of  its  lesson.  It  is  a  watcher  more  than  a  doer, 
and  it  is  a  doer  only  that  it  may  the  better  watch." 

Thus  closes  the  characteristic  chapter  on 
"Idealism,"  which  certainly  contains  many 
things  which  seem  to  contravene  much  which  has 
before  been  strenuously  insisted  upon.  Most 
likely  Emerson  perceived  this,  and,  if  he  ever 
condescended  to  explanations,  he  would  have  said 
that  all  these  were  but  parts  of  the  one  universal 
truth,  which  could  only  be  expressed  in  frag 
ments.  For,  just  before  the  last  paragraph,  urg 
ing  the  "  advantages  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the 
popular  faith,"  and  repeating  the  affirmation  that 
"  motion,  poetry,  physical  and  intellectual  science, 
and  religion  all  tend  to  affect  our  convictions  of 
the  reality  of  the  external  world,"  he  adds,  as  if 
half  regretful  that  such  was  the  case,  "  I  own  that 
there  is  something  ungrateful  too  curiously  to 
scan  the  particulars  of  the  general  proposition 
that  all  culture  tends  to  imbue  us  with  idealism. 
I  have  no  hostility  to  Nature,  but  a  child's  love  to 
it.  I  expand  and  live  in  the  warm  day  like  corn 
and  melons.  Let  us  speak  her  fair.  I  do  not 
wish  to  fling  stones  at  my  beautiful  mother,  nor 
soil  my  gentle  nest.  I  only  wish  to  indicate  the 
true  position  of  Nature  in  regard  to  man,  wherein 
to  establish  man  all  right  education  tends,  as  the 
ground  which  to  attain  is  the  object  of  human 
life—that  is,  of  man's  connection  with  Nature." 


NATURE.  149 

Yet  still  he  holds  by  preference  to  the  extreme 
ideal  theory.  "Culture, "he  says,  "inverts  the 
vulgar  views  of  nature,  and  brings  the  mind  to 
call  that  apparent  which  it  used  to  call  real,  and 
that  real  which  it  use  to  call  visionary.  Children, 
it  is  true,  believe  in  the  external  world.  The 
belief  that  it  appears  only  is  an  after-thought ; 
but  with  culture  this  faith  will  as  surely  arise  on 
the  mind  as  did  the  first." 

In  the  next  brief  chapter,  entitled  "  Spirit," 
the  much-vaunted  Idealism  is  treated  as  quite  in 
sufficient  to  solve  all  the  problems  put  by  Nature 
to  the  mind  : 

INSUFFICIENCY    OF   IDEALISM. 

"When  we  consider  Spirit,  we  see  that  the  views 
already  presented  do  not  include  the  whole  circumfer 
ence  of  man.  Three  problems  are  put  by  Nature  to  the 
mind :  '  What  is  Matter  ?  Whence  is  it  ?  and  Whereto  ?  * 
The  first  of  these  questions  only  the  ideal  theory  an 
swers.  Idealism  saith :  '  Matter  is  a  phenomenon,  not  a 
substance.'  Idealism  acquaints  us  with  the  total  dispar 
ity  between  the  evidence  of  our  own  being  and  the  evi 
dence  of  the  world's  being.  The  one  is  perfect,  the  other 
incapable  of  any  assurance.  The  mind  is  a  part  of  the 
nature  of  things;  the  world  is  a  divine  dream,  from 
which  we  may  presently  awake  to  the  glories  and  cer 
tainties  of  day.  Idealism  is  a  hypothesis  to  account  for 
Nature  by  other  principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and 
chemistry.  Yet,  if  it  only  deny  the  existence  of  matter, 
it  does  not  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  spirit.  It  leaves 


150  EMERSON. 

God  out  of  me.  It  leaves  me  in  the  splendid  labyrinth 
of  my  perceptions,  to  wander  without  end.  Then  the 
heart  revisits  it,  because  it  balks  the  affections  in  deny 
ing  substantive  being  to  men  and  women.  Nature  is  so 
pervaded  with  human  life  that  there  is  something  ot 
humanity  in  all  and  in  every  particular.  But  this  ideal 
theory  makes  Nature  foreign  to  me,  and  does  not  account 
for  that  consanguinity  which  we  acknowledge  to  it.  Let 
it  stand,  then,  in  the  present  state  of  our  knowledge,  as  a 
useful  introductory  hypothesis,  serving  to  apprise  us  of 
the  eternal  distinction  between  the  soul  and  the  world." 

But  when  Emerson  again,  in  this  chapter, 
comes  to  speak  of  Nature,  he  goes  back  to  his 
original  conception.  It  must  not  be  overlooked 
that,  as  he  forewarned  his  readers  in  the  outset, 
he  uses  the  term  in  a  twofold  sense — the  com 
mon  and  the  philosophic  one.  In  the  philosophic 
sense,  every  man  is  to  every  other  man  a  part  of 
Nature,  as  much  so  as  the  forms  of  matter,  so  that 
there  are  subjectively  only  three  possible  forms  of 
existence  :  God,  Myself,  and  Nature.  In  this 
broader  sense,  we  are  told  that  "  The  aspect  of 
Nature  is  devout.  Like  the  figure  of  Jesus,  she 
stands  with  bended  head  and  hands  folded  upon 
the  breast.  And  all  the  uses  of  Nature  admit  of 
being  summed  in  one.  Through  all  her  king 
doms,  to  the  suburbs  and  outskirts  of  things,  she 
is  faithful  to  the  cause  whence  she  had  her  origin. 
She  always  speaks  of  spirit. "  But  of  spirit  Emer 
son  speaks  in  very  vague  terms.  Thus  : 


NATURE.  151 


WHAT   SPIRIT   19. 

"  Of  that  ineffable  essence  which  we  call  Spirit,  he 
that  thinks  most  will  say  least.  "We  can  foresee  God  in 
the  coarse,  as  it  were,  distant  phenomena  of  matter  ;  but 
when  we  try  to  define  and  describe  himself,  both  lan 
guage  and  thought  desert  us,  and  we  are  as  helpless  as 
fools  and  savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  recorded 
in  propositions ;  but,  when  man  has  worshiped  him  in 
tellectually,  the  noblest  ministry  of  Nature  is  to  stand  as 
the  apparition  of  God.  It  is  the  organ  through  which 
tho  universal  spirit  speaks  to  the  individual,  and  strives 
to  lead  back  the  individual  to  it.  ...  But,  when,  fol 
lowing  the  invisible  steps  of  thought,  we  come  to 
inquire  *  Whence  is  matter?  and  Whereto?'  many 
truths  arise  to  us  out  of  the  recesses  of  consciousness. 
We  learn  that  the  Highest  is  present  in  the  soul  of  man ; 
that  the  dread  essence — which  is  not  wisdom  or  love  or 
beauty  or  power,  but  all  in  one,  and  each  entirely,  is 
that  for  which  all  things  exist,  and  that  by  which  they 
are ;  that  Spirit  creates ;  that  behind  Nature,  throughout 
Nature,  Spirit  is  present.  One,  and  not  compound,  it 
does  not  act  upon  us  from  without — that  is,  in  space 
and  time — but  spiritually,  or  through  ourselves :  there 
fore  that  Spirit — that  is,  the  Supreme  Being,  does  not 
build  up  Nature  around  us,  but  puts  it  forth  through  us, 
as  the  life  of  a  tree  puts  forth  new  branches  and  leaves 
through  the  pores  of  the  old.  As  a  plant  upon  the  earth, 
so  a  man  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  God.  He  is  nourished 
by  unfailing  fountains,  and  draws,  at  his  need,  inexhaust 
ible  power.  Who  can  set  bounds  to  the  possibilities  of 
man  ?  Once  inhale  the  upper  air,  being  admitted  to  be 
hold  the  absolute  natures  of  justice  and  truth,  and  we 


152  EMERSON. 

learn  that  man  has  access  to  the  entire  mind  of  the  Crea 
tor  ;  is  himself  the  Creator  in  the  finite." 

This  view  seems  to  Emerson  to  be  sufficient 
and  adequate.  He  says,  "  It  admonishes  me  where 
the  sources  of  wisdom  and  power  lie,  and  points 

to  virtue  as  to 

"  '  The  golden  key 
Which  opes  the  palace  of  Eternity ' ; 

carries  upon  its  face  the  highest  certificate  of 
truth,  because  it  animates  me  to  create  my  own 
world  through  the  purification  of  my  soul."  For 
the  sake  of  setting  forth  at  a  glance  the  main 
utterances  of  Emerson  upon  this  high  theme, 
we  group  together  several  passages  from  other 
of  his  works  bearing  upon  this  point: 

THE   HUMAN    SOUL   AND   THE    DIVINE    SPIRIT. 

"The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  Divine  Spirit  are  so 
pure  that  it  is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  When 
ever  a  mind  is  simple  and  receives  a  divine  wisdom,  all 
things  pass  away ;  means,  teachers,  texts,  temples,  fall ; 
it  lives  now,  and  absorbs  past  and  future  into  the  present 
hour.  .  .  .  Let  man  learn  the  revelation  of  all  Nature 
and  all  thought  to  his  heart ;  this,  namely,  that  the  High 
est  dwells  with  him ;  that  the  sources  of  Nature  are  in 
his  own  mind,  if  the  sentiment  of  duty  is  there.  ...  In 
effable  is  the  union  of  man  and  God  in  every  act  of  the 
Soul ;  the  simplest  person  who,  in  his  integrity,  worships 
God,  becomes  God ;  yet  for  ever  and  ever  the  influx  of 
this  better  and  universal  self  is  new  and  unsearchable. 
.  .  .  If  we  will  not  interfere  with  our  thought,  but  will 
act  entirely,  or  see  how  the  thing  stands  with  God,  we 


NATUEE.  153 

kno-.v  the  particular  thing,  and  everything,  and  every 
man.  For  the  Maker  of  all  things  and  of  all  persons 
stands  behind  us,  and  casts  his  dread  omniscience  through 
us  over  things.  .  .  .  The  only  mode  of  obtaining  an  an 
swer  to  the  questions  of  the  senses  is  to  forego  all  low 
curiosity,  and,  accepting  the  tide  of  being  which  floats 
us  into  the  secret  of  Nature,  work  and  live,  work  and 
live,  and,  all  unawares,  the  advancing  soul  has  built  and 
forged  for  itself  a  new  condition ;  and  the  question  and 
answer  are  one.  .  .  .  "We  live  in  succession,  in  parts,  in 
particles.  Meantime  within  man  is  the  soul  of  the  whole ; 
the  wise  silence ;  the  universal  beauty  to  which  every 
part  and  particle  is  equally  related — the  eternal  ONE. 
And  this  deep  power  in  which  we  exist,  and  whose  beati 
tude  is  all  accessible  to  us,  is  not  only  self-sufficing  and 
perfect  in  every  hour,  but  the  act  of  seeing  and  the  thing 
seen,  the  seer  and  the  spectacle,  the  subject  and  the  ob 
ject,  are  one." 

Closely  allied  to  the  idea  of  the  divine  in  the 
human  soul  is  that  of  the  immortality  of  the  in 
dividual  man.  That  Emerson  fully  believes  this, 
in  a  sense,  is  clear  ;  but  it  is  not  so  clear  in  what 
specific  sense.  In  his  earlier  utterances  the  sub 
ject  is  presented  in  terms  not  essentially  differing 
from  those  in  common  use.  But  in  later  works 
the  belief  assumes  a  far  less  definite  form.  As 
thus,  in  the  chapter  on  Worship,  in  his  "  Conduct 
of  Life  ": 

IMMORTALITY. 

"  Of  Immortality,  the  soul,  when  well  employed,  is 
incurious.  It  is  so  well,  that  it  ia  sure  it  will  T)e  well.  It 


154  EMERSON. 

asks  no  questions  of  the  Supreme  Power.  The  son  of 
Antiochus  asked  his  father  when  he  would  join  battle ; 
'  Dost  thou  fear,'  replied  the  king,  '  that  thou  only  in  all 
the  army  wilt  not  hear  the  trumpet?'  It  is  a  higher 
thing  to  confide  that,  if  it  is  best  we  should  live,  we  shall 
live.  It  is  higher  to  have  this  conviction  than  to  have 
the  lease  of  indefinite  centuries  and  millenniums  and  aeons. 
Higher  than  the  question  of  our  duration  is  the  question 
of  our  deserving.  Immortality  will  come  to  such  as  are 
fit  for  it ;  and  he  who  would  be  a  great  soul  in  the  future 
must  be  a  great  soul  now.  It  is  a  doctrine  too  great  to 
rest  on  any  legend — that  is,  on  any  man's  experience  but 
our  own.  It  must  be  proved,  if  at  all,  from  our  own  ac 
tivity  and  designs,  which  imply  an  interminable  future 
for  their  display." 

In  the  chapter  on  Immortality  in  his  latest 
work,  "  Letters  and  Social  Aims,"  lie  elaborates 
the  suggestion,  and  presents  the  natural  argument 
for  the  immortality  of  man  as  it  is  usually  pro 
pounded.  He  says  : 

THE   NATURAL    ARGUMENT    FOR   IMMORTALITY. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  Nature  capricious,  or  whimsical, 
or  accidental,  or  unsupported.  Nature  never  moves  by 
jumps,  but  always  in  steady  and  supported  advances. 
The  implanting  of  a  desire  indicates  that  the  gratification 
of  that  desire  is  in  the  constitution  of  the  creature  that 
feels  it.  The  wish  for  food,  the  wish  for  motion,  the 
wish  for  sleep,  for  society,  for  knowledge,  are  not  ran 
dom  whims,  but  grounded  in  the  structure  of  the  creature, 
and  meant  to  be  satisfied  by  food,  by  motion,  by  society, 
by  knowledge.  If  there  is  a  desire  to  live,  and  in  larger 


NATURE.  155 

sphere,  with  more  knowledge  and  power,  it  is  because 
life  and  knowledge  and  power  are  good  for  us,  and  we 
are  the  natural  depositories  of  these  gifts.  The  love  of 
life  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  value  set  on  a  single 
day,  and  seems  to  indicate,  like  all  our  other  experiences, 
a  conviction  of  immense  resources  and  possibilities  proper 
to  us,  on  which  we  have  never  drawn.  .  .  .  As  a  hint  of 
endless  being  we  may  rank  that  novelty  which  perpetual 
ly  attends  life.  The  soul  does  not  age  with  the  body. 
On  the  borders  of  the  grave  the  wise  man  looks  forward 
with  equal  elasticity  of  mind  or  hope;  and  why  not, 
after%  millions  of  years,  on  the  verge  of  still  newer  exist 
ence?  Most  men  are  insolvent,  or  promise  by  their 
countenance  and  conversation,  and  by  their  early  en 
deavor,  much  more  than  they  ever  perform,  suggesting  a 
design  still  to  be  carried  out.  The  man  must  have  new 
motives,  new  companions,  new  condition,  and  another 
term.  Every  really  able  man,  in  whatever  direction  he 
work — a  man  of  large  affairs,  an  inventor,  a  statesman, 
an  orator,  a  poet,  a  painter — if  you  talk  sincerely  with 
him,  considers  his  work,  however  much  admired,  as  far 
short  of  what  it  should  be.  What  is  this  better,  this  fly 
ing  ideal,  but  the  perpetual  promise  of  the  Creator  ?  " 

The  argument  is  presented  at  length,  and  with 
unusual  variety  of  illustration  ;  but  scattered 
through  it  are  passages  which  indicate  entire  un 
certainty  as  to  the  fundamental  question  of  per 
sonal  immortality.  As  this  : 

PERSONAL   IMMORTALITY. 

"  I  confess  that  everything  connected  with  our  per 
sonality  fcils.  Nature  never  spares  the  individual.  We 


156  EMERSON. 

are  always  balked  of  a  complete  success.  No  prosperity 
is  promised  to  that.  We  have  our  indemnity  only  in 
the  success  of  that  to  which  we  belong.  That  is  im 
mortal,  and  we  only  through  that.  The  soul  stipulates 
for  no  private  good.  That  which  is  private  I  see  not  to 
be  good.  'If  truth  live,  I  live;  if  justice  live,  I  live,' 
said  one  of  the  old  saints ;  *  and  these  by  any  man's  suf 
fering  are  enlarged  and  enthroned.'  ...  Is  immortality 
only  an  intellectual  quality ;  or,  shall  I  say  only  an  en 
ergy,  there  being  no  passive  ?  He  has  it,  and  he  alone, 
who  gives  life  to  all  names,  persons,  things,  where  he 
comes.  No  religion,  not  the  wildest  mythology,  dies  for 
him.  He  vivifies  what  he  touches.  Future  state  is  an 
illusion  for  the  ever-present  state.  It  is  not  length  of 
life,  but  depth  of  life.  It  is  not  duration,  but  a  taking 
of  the  soul  out  of  time,  as  all  high  action  of  the  mind 
does." 

Now,  the  idea  of  immortality,  as  thus  set  forth, 
while  in  no  wise  opposed  to  that  of  a  conscious 
personal  never-ending  existence,  does  not  at  all 
imply  it.  Mr.  Emerson  even  scouts  at  the  belief 
that  this  was  taught  by  Jesus.  He  says  :  "It  is 
strange  that  Jesus  is  esteemed  by  mankind  the 
bringer  of  the  doctrine  of  immortality.  He  is 
never  once  weak  or  sentimental ;  he  is  very  abste 
mious  of  explanation  ;  he  never  preaches  the  per 
sonal  immortality ;  whilst  Plato  and  Cicero  had 
both  allowed  themselves  to  overstep  the  stern 
limits  of  the  spirit,  and  gratify  the  people  with 
that  picture."  He  cites,  with  apparent  approval, 
two  passages  from  Goethe.  The  one  runs  thus  : 


NATURE.  157 

"  To  me  the  eternal  existence  of  my  soul  is  proved 
from  my  idea  of  activity.  If  I  work  incessantly 
till  my  death,  Nature  is  bound  to  give  me  another 
form  of  existence  when  the  present  can  no  longer 
sustain  my  existence."  But,  in  the  other  passage 
cited,  something  more  is  hinted  than  a  doubt  of 
any  personal  immortality  :"  It  is  to  a  thinking 
being  quite  impossible  to  think  himself  non 
existent,  ceasing  to  think  and  live.  So  far  does 
every  one  carry  in  himself  the  proof  of  immor 
tality,  and  quite  spontaneously.  But,  so  soon  as 
the  man  will  be  objective  and  go  out  of  himself, 
so  soon  as  he  will  dogmatically  grasp  a  personal 
duration  to  bolster  up  in  cockney  fashion  that 
inward  assurance,  he  is  lost  in  contradiction." 

The  natural  argument  for  the  personal  immor 
tality  of  each  individual  man,  as  set  forth  by 
Emerson,  may  be  briefly  presented:  "God  has 
implanted  in  the  nature  of  man  a  longing  for  im 
mortality,  and,  by  so  implanting  it,  he  has  prom- 
ished  that  this  longing  shall  be  realized ;  he  is 
always  true  to  his  promises ;  and  therefore  man 
must  be  immortal."  To  us  the  argument  is  alto 
gether  inconclusive.  If  we  rightly  understand 
Emerson,  it  is  inconclusive  to  him  also,  in  so  far 
at  least  as  anything  like  personal  immortality  is 
concerned.  He,  moreover,  more  than  intimates  a 
doubt  whether  immortality  is  accorded  to  all  men, 
or  only  to  those  who  shall  be  found  fit  for  it.  We 
fail  to  see  that  the  assumed  longing  for  immortal- 


158  EMERSON. 

ity  is  any  sure  proof  that  it  will  be  satisfied.  How 
many  of  our  most  earnest  longings  are  for  ever  un 
realized!  All  men  long  for  and  pray  for  comfort,, 
health,  and  length  of  days.  Eight  and  just  ob 
jects  of  longing  are  all  these  ;  but  to  how  many  are 
apportioned  want,  disease,  and  early  death  ;  their 
longings  unsatisfied,  their  prayers  unanswered! 

And  again,  this  longing  for  immortality,  in 
any  sense  in  which  we  can  understand  the  word, 
is  far  enough  from  being  universal  among  man 
kind.  To  the  five  hundred  millions  of  Buddhists, 
Nirvana  is  the  supreme  object  of  longing  and  en 
deavor.  As  we  understand  it,  the  Buddhist  idea 
of  Nirvana  is  by  no  means  fitly  represented  by  our 
word  "annihilation."  We  understand  it  to  mean 
a  state  of  future  being  devoid  of  all  which  enters 
into  personality ;  individual  thought,  will,  and 
consciousness  being  absorbed  in  the  infinite  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  as  a  snow-flake,  without  annihi 
lation,  is  absorbed  and  swallowed  up  in  the  ocean 
into  which  it  falls — "a  moment  white,  then  lost 
for  ever." 

"We  believe  most  undoubtingly  in  the  personal 
immortality  of  every  individual  human  being. 
We  believe  in  it  intuitively  and  without  proof 
from  any  source  without  ourselves.  We  should 
doubtless  have  believed  it,  had  no  direct  revelation 
been  vouchsafed  to  us.  What  we  accept  as  Divine 
revelation  only  confirms  and  strengthens  our  belief 
in  immortality,  just  as  it  confirms  and  strengthens 


NATURE.  159 

our  belief  in  the  existence  of  the  one  God,  eter 
nal,  immortal,  and  invisible,  all-powerful,  all- wise, 
and  all-good.  We  call  in  question,  not  the  truth 
of  the  belief  in  immortality,  but  the  validity  of 
Emerson's  argument,  and  most  especially  the 
vague  and  unsatisfactory  conclusion  to  which  it 
leads  him.  If  he  is  in  any  sense  a  "  seer,"  his 
vision  in  this  matter  is  dim. 

Of  the  final  short  chapter,  entitled  "Pros 
pects,"  which  closes  this  book  of  Emerson,  only 
brief  mention  is  required ;  and  that  mainly  for 
the  sake  of  setting  forth  a  particular  phase  of  his 
mental  processes.  "  Every  surmise  and  vaticina 
tion  of  the  mind,"  he  affirms,  "is  entitled  to  a 
certain  respect ;  and  we  learn  to  prefer  imperfect 
theories  and  sentences,  which  contain  glimpses  of 
truth,  to  digested  systems  which  have  no  one  val 
uable  suggestion.  A  wise  writer  will  feel  that  the 
ends  of  study  and  composition  are  best  answered 
by  announcing  undiscovered  regions  of  thought, 
and  so  communicating,  through  hope,  new  activ 
ity  to  the  torpid  spirit.  ...  At  present  man  ap 
plies  to  Nature  but  half  his  force.  He  works 
with  the  understanding  alone.  He  lives  in  it, 
and  masters  it  by  a  penny-wisdom ;  and  he  that 
works  most  in  it,  he  is  but  a  half  man.  His  rela 
tion  to  Nature,  his  power  over  it,  is  through  the 
understanding ;  as  by  manure,  the  economic  use 
of  fire,  wind,  water,  and  the  mariner's  needle  ; 
steam,  coal,  chemical  agriculture ;  the  repairs  of 


160  EMERSON. 

the  human  body  by  the  dentist  and  the  surgeon. 
This  is  such  a  resumption  of  power  as  if  a  ban 
ished  king  should  buy  his  territories  inch  by  inch, 
instead  of  vaulting  at  once  into  his  throne."  Still 
there  are  brighter  prospects  in  store.  He  says  : 
« 

PBOSPECTS. 

tl  Meantime,  in  the  thick  darkness  there  are  not  want 
ing  gleams  of  a  better  light ;  occasional  examples  of  the 
action  of  man  upon  Nature  with  his  entire  force — with 
reason  as  well  as  understanding.  Such  are  the  tradi 
tions  of  miracles  in  the  earliest  antiquity  of  all  ages ;  the 
history  of  Jesus  Christ ;  the  achievement  of  a  principle, 
as  in  religious  and  political  revolutions,  and  in  the  abo 
lition  of  the  slave  trade ;  the  miracles  of  enthusiasm,  as 
those  reported  of  Swedenborg,  Hohenlohe,  and  the 
Shakers ;  many  obscure  and  yet  contested  facts  now  ar 
ranged  under  the  name  of  animal  magnetism ;  prayer, 
eloquence,  self-healing,  and  the  wisdom  of  children. 
These  are  examples  of  reason's  momentary  grasp  of  the 
sceptre;  the  exertion  of  a  power  which  exists  not  in 
time  or  space,  but  in  an  instantaneous  in-streaming  power. 
The  difference  between  the  actual  and  the  ideal  force  of 
man  is  happily  figured  by  the  schoolmen  in  saying,  that 
the  knowledge  of  man  is  '  an  evening  knowledge —  Ves- 
pertina  cognitio,  but,  that  of  God  is  a  morning  knowledge 
— Matutina  cognitio.^ " 

The  foregoing  is  certainly  an  odd  enumeration 
of  some  of  the  gleams  of  a  better  light  which  fore 
shadow  the  coming  day.  Some  of  them  seem  to 
us,  and  most  likely  they  have  come  to  seem  to 


NATURE.  161 

Emerson,  to  be  beams  of  darkness  flung  forth 
from  the  depths  of  primal  obscurity.  But,  as  the 
sum  and  substance  of  all  that  had  been  before 
said,  we  have  the  following  noble  and  hopeful 
passage ;  not  the  less  noble  because  it  retracts  the 
derogatory  expressions  which  had  been  now  and 
then  applied  to  Nature  : 

SOLUTION    OF   THE    SPHINX    PROBLEM. 

"  The  problem  of  restoring  to  the  world  original  and 
eternal  beauty  is  solved  by  the  redemption  of  the  soul. 
The  ruin  or  the  blank  which  we  see,  when  we  look  at 
Nature,  is  in  our  own  eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not 
coincident  with  the  axis  of  things ;  and  so  they  appear 
not  transparent,  but  opaque.  The  reason  why  the  world 
lacks  unity,  and  lies  broken  and  in  heaps,  is  because  man 
is  disunited  with  himself.  He  can  not  be  a  naturalist 
until  he  satisfies  all  the  demands  of  the  spirit.  Love  is 
as  much  its  demand  as  perception ;  indeed,  neither  can 
be  perfect  without  the  other.  In  the  uttermost  mean 
ing  of  the  word,  thought  is  devout,  and  devotion  is 
thought.  Deep  calls  unto  deep ;  but  in  actual  life  the 
marriage  is  not  celebrated.  There  are  innocent  men  who 
worship  God  after  the  tradition  of  their  fathers,  but  their 
sense  of  duty  has  not  yet  extended  to  the  use  of  all  their 
faculties.  And  they  are  patient  naturalists ;  but  they 
freeze  their  subject  under  the  wintry  light  of  the  under 
standing.  Is  not  prayer  also  a  study  of  truth — a  sally 
of  the  soul  into  the  unfound  infinite?  N~o  man  ever 
prayed  heartily  without  learning  something. 

"It  will  not  need,  when  the  mind  is  prepared  for 
study,  to  search  for  objects.  The  invariable  mark  of 
11 


162  EMERSON. 

wisdom  is  to  see  the  miraculous  in  the  common.  To 
our  blindness  common  things  seem  un affecting.  We 
make  fables  to  hide  the  baldness  of  the  fact,  and  conform 
it,  as  we  say,  to  the  higher  law  of  the  mind.  But  when 
the  fact  is  seen  under  the  light  of  an  idea,  the  gaudy  fable 
hides  and  shrivels.  We  behold  the  real  higher  law.  To 
the  wise,  therefore,  a  fact  is  pure  poetry,  and  the  most 
beautiful  of  fables.  These  wonders  are  brought  to  our 
own  door.  You  are  also  a  man.  Man  and  woman,  and 
their  social  life,  poverty,  labor,  fear,  fortune,  are  known 
to  you.  Learo  that  none  of  these  things  is  superficial, 
but  that  each  phenomenon  has  its  root  in  the  faculties 
and  affections  of  the  mind.  While  the  abstract  question 
occupies  your  intellect,  Nature  brings  it  in  the  concrete 
to  be  solved  by  your  hands.  It  were  a  wise  inquiry  for 
the  closet  to  compare,  point  by  point,  especially  in  re 
markable  crises  in  life,  our  daily  history  with  the  rise 
and  progress  of  ideas  in  the  mind." 

The  book  closes  with  this  jubilant  strain  ;  the 
final  end  of  the  solution  of  the  Sphinx  problem  ; 
for  which  we  are  willing  to  overlook  the  winding 
paths  by  which  it  has  been  reached  : 

"So  shall  we  come  to  look  at  the  world  with  new 
eyes.  It  shall  answer  the  endless  inquiry  of  the  intel 
lect,  '  What  is  truth  ? '  and  of  the  affections,  '  What  is 
good  ? '  by  yielding  itself  passive  to  the  educated  will. 
Then  shall  come  to  pass  what  a  poet  said:  'Nature  is 
not  fixed,  but  fluid.  Spirit  alters,  molds,  makes  it.  The 
immobility  or  bruteness  of  Nature  is  the  absence  of 
spirit ;  to  pure  spirit  it  is  fluid,  it  ia  volatile,  it  is  obe 
dient.  Every  spirit  builds  itself  a  house;  and  beyond 
its  house  a  world;  and  beyond  its  world  a  heaven. 


NATURE.  163 

Know,  then,  that  the  world  exists  for  you  ;  for  it  is  the 
phenomenon  perfect.  What  we  are,  that  only  can  we 
see.  All  that  Adam  had,  all  that  Csesar  could,  you  have 
and  can  do.  Adam  called  his  house  heaven  and  earth  ; 
Ca3sar  called  his  house  Borne;  you  perhaps  call  yours  a 
cobbler's  trade,  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  or  a  scholar's 
garret.  Yet,  line  for  line,  and  point  for  point,  your  do 
minion  is  as  great  as  theirs,  though  without  fine  names." 

Carlyle  has  expressed  this  idea  still  more  terse 
ly  :  "  Louis  was  a  ruler ;  but  art  thou  not  also 
one  ?  His  wide  France,  look  at  it  from  the  fixed 
stars  (themselves  not  yet  Infinitude),  is  no  wider 
than  thy  narrow  brickfield,  where  thou  didst 
faithfully  or  unfaithfully.  Man,  a  'symbol  of 
eternity  imprisoned  into  time  ! '  it  is  not  thy 
works,  which  are  all  mortal,  infinitely  little,  and 
the  greatest  no  greater  than  the  least,  but  only 
the  spirit  thou  workest  in,  that  can  have  worth 
or  continuance."  Emerson  thus  concludes  : 

THE   CONCLUSION". 

"Build,  therefore,  your  own  world.  As  fast  as 
you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure  idea  in  your  mind, 
that  will  unfold  its  vast  proportions.  A  correspond 
ent  revolution  in  things  will  attend  the  influx  of  the 
spirit.  So  fast  will  disagreeable  appearances :  swine,  spi 
ders,  snakes,  pests,  madhouses,  prisons,  enemies,  vanish. 
They  are  temporary,  and  shall  no  more  be  seen.  The 
sordes  and  the  filths  of  Nature,  the  sun  shall  dry  up, 
and  the  wind  exhale.  As  when  the  summer  comes  from 
the  south,  the  snow-banks  melt,  and  the  face  of  the 


164  EMERSON. 

earth  becomes  green  before  it,  so  shall  the  advancing 
spirit  create  ornaments  along  its  path,  and  carry  with 
it  the  beauty  it  visits,  and  the  song  which  enchants  it. 
It  shall  draw  beautiful  faces,  warm  hearts,  wise  dis 
courses,  and  heroic  acts  around  its  way,  until  evil  is  no 
more  seen.  The  kingdom  of  man  over  Nature,  which 
cometh  not  with  observation — a  dominion  such  as  now 
is  beyond  his  dream  of  God — he  shall  enter  without 
more  wonder  than  the  blind  man  feels  who  is  gradually 
restored  to  perfect  sight." 


VIII. 

THE   ESSAYS. 

THE  two  series,  published  in  1841  and  1847, 
contain  twenty  essays,  upon  a  great  variety  of 
subjects.  In  most  minds  this  is  the  work  most 
distinctively  associated  with  Emerson.  It  was 
this  which  slowly  won  the  profound  admiration 
of  Hermann  Grimm.  The  first  thing  which 
strikes  the  reader  is  the  austere  condensation  of 
the  style  in  contrast  with  the  florid  exuberance 
of  that  in  "Nature."  It  bristles  with  sentences 
which  are  epigrams.  If  one  wanted  a  text  for  a 
discourse  upon  almost  any  theme,  he  could  scarce 
ly  fail  to  find  it  in  one  or  another  of  these  essays. 
We  shall  pass  in  rapid  succession  over  some  of 
the  varied  topics  treated,  dwelling  mainly  upon 


THE  ESSAYS.  165 

those  which  follow  a  different  train  of  thought 
from  that  pursued  in  "Nature."  The  essay  on 
"History"  is  to  a  great  extent  a  more  orderly 
setting  forth  the  idea  of  the  unity  in  variety  ex 
isting  throughout  the  entire  realm  of  Nature. 
But  there  are  passages  which,  leaving  the  domain 
of  the  ideal,  come  down  to  the  generalization  of 
isolated  facts  in  human  history.  As  this  : 

NOMADISM. 

"  In  the  early  history  of  Asia  and  Europe,  nomad 
ism  and  agriculture  are  the  two  antagonist  facts.  The 
geography  of  Asia  and  Africa  necessitated  a  nomadic 
life.  But  the  nomads  were  the  terror  of  all  those  whom 
the  soil  or  the  advantages  of  a  market  had  induced  to 
build  towns.  Agriculture  was  therefore  a  religious 
function  because  of  the  perils  of  the  state  from  nomad 
ism.  And  in  these  late  and  civil  countries  of  England 
and  America,  the  contest  of  these  propensities  still  fights 
out  the  old  battle  in  each  individual.  We  are  all  rovers 
by  turns — and  pretty  rapid  turns.  The  nomads  of  Africa 
are  constrained  to  wander  by  the  attacks  of  the  gadfly 
which  drives  the  cattle  mad,  and  so  compels  the  tribe  to 
emigrate  in  the  rainy  season,  and  drive  off  the  cattle  to 
the  higher  sandy  regions.  The  nomads  of  Asia  follow 
the  pasturage  from  month  to  month.  In  America  and 
Europe  the  nomadism  is  of  trade  and  curiosity — a  pro 
gress  certainly  from  the  gadfly  of  Astaboras  to  the  Anglo 
mania  and  Italo-mania  of  Boston  Bay.  The  Persian 
court,  in  its  magnificent  era,  never  gave  up  the  nomadism 
of  its  barbarous  tribes,  but  traveled  from  Ecbatana, 
where  the  spring  was  spent,  to  Susa  in  summer,  and  to 


166  EMERSON. 

Babylon  for  the  winter.  Sacred  cities  to  which  a  peri 
odical  religious  pilgrimage  was  enjoined,  or  stringent 
laws  and  customs  tending  to  invigorate  the  national 
bond,  were  the  check  on  the  old  rovers ;  and  the  cumu 
lative  values  of  long  residence  are  the  restraints  on  the 
itinerancy  of  the  present  day." 

INTELLECTUAL   NOMADISM. 

"  The  antagonism  of  these  two  forms  is  not  less  active 
in  individuals,  as  the  love  of  adventure  or  the  love  of 
repose  happens  to  predominate.  A  man  of  rude  health 
and  flowing  spirits  has  the  faculty  of  rapid  domestica 
tion,  lives  in  his  wagon,  and  roams  through  all  latitudes 
as  easily  as  a  Oalmuc.  At  sea,  or  in  the  forest,  or  in  the 
snow,  he  sleeps  as  warm,  dines  with  as  good  an  appetite, 
and  associates  as  happily  as  beside  his  own  chimneys. 
Or  perhaps  his  facility  is  deeper  seated  in  the  increased 
range  of  his  faculties  of  observation,  which  yield  him 
points  of  interest  wherever  fresh  objects  meet  his  eyes. 
The  pastoral  nations  were  needy  and  hungry  to  despera 
tion;  and  this  intellectual  nomadism,  in  its  success, 
bankrupts  the  mind  through  the  dissipation  of  power  on 
a  miscellany  of  objects.  The  home-keeping  wit,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  that  continence  or  content  which  finds  all 
the  elements  of  success  on  its  own  soil ;  and  which  has 
its  own  perils  of  monotony  and  deterioration,  if  not 
stimulated  by  foreign  infusion." 

There  are  some  pregnant  passages  unfolding 
the  reason  why  men  of  our  day  feel  such  a  deep 
interest  in  the  history  of  the  Greeks.  The  fol 
lowing  might  have  been  written  by  Charles  Emer 
son.  It  reads  like  the  extract  from  his  "Notes" 


THE  ESSAYS.  167 

which  have  been  quoted  in  an  early  part  of  this 
volume : 

THE    CHAEM    OF    GEEEK    HISTOEY. 

"  What  is  the  foundation  of  that  interest  all  men  feel 
in  Greek  history  in  all  its  periods,  from  the  Heroic  or  Ho 
meric  Age  down  to  the  domestic  life  of  the  Athenians  or 
Spartans,  four  or  five  centuries  later  ?  What  but  this, 
that  every  man  passes  personally  through  a  Grecian  pe 
riod?  The  Grecian  state  is  the  state  of  bodily  nature — 
the  perfection  of  the  senses — of  the  spiritual  nature  un 
folded  in  strict  unity  with  the  body.  It  existed  in  those 
human  forms  which  supplied  the  sculptor  with  the 
models  of  Hercules,  Phoebus,  and  Jove;  not  like  the 
forms  abounding  in  the  streets  of  modern  cities,  wherein 
the  face  is  a  confused  blur  of  features ;  but  composed  of 
incorrupt,  sharply  defined,  and  symmetrical  features, 
whose  eye-sockets  are  so  formed  that  it  would  be  impos 
sible  for  such  eyes  to  squint,  and  take  furtive  glances  on 
this  side  and  on  that,  but  they  must  turn  the  whole 
head. 

"The  manners  of  that  period  are  plain  and  fierce. 
The  reverence  exhibited  is  for  personal  qualities :  cour 
age,  address,  self-command,  justice,  strength,  swiftness, 
a  loud  voice,  a  strong  chest.  Luxury  and  elegance  are 
not  known.  A  sparse  population  and  want  make  every 
man  his  own  valet,  cook,  butcher,  and  soldier ;  and  the 
habit  of  supplying  his  own  needs  educates  the  body  to 
wonderful  performances.  Such  are  the  Agamemnon  and 
Diomed  of  Homer;  and  not  far  different  is  the  picture 
Xenophon  gives  of  himself  and  his  compatriots  in  the 
4  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand ' :  '  After  the  army  had 
crossed  the  river  Teleboas,  in  Armenia,  there  fell  much 
snow,  and  the  troops  lay  miserably  on  the  ground  cov- 


168  EMERSON. 

ered  with  it.  But  Xenophon  arose  naked,  and  taking 
an  axe  began  to  split  wood  ;  whereupon  the  others  rose 
and  did  the  like.'  Throughout  his  army  exists  a  bound 
less  liberty  of  speech.  They  quarrel  for  plunder ;  they 
wrangle  with  the  generals  on  each  order  ;  and  Xenophon 
is  as  sharp-tongued  as  any,  and  sharper-tongued  than 
most,  and  so  gives  as  good  as  he  gets.  "Who  does  not 
see  that  this  is  a  gang  of  great  boys,  with  such  a  code  of 
honor  and  such  lack  of  discipline  as  great  boys  have  ?  " 

To  the  same  general  principle  of  sympathy 
is  ascribed  the  charm  of  Greek  literature  and  art : 

THE   OHAEM   OF    GBEEK    LITEEATUEE    AND    AET. 

"  The  costly  charm  of  the  ancient  tragedy  is  that  the 
persons  speak  simply ;  speak  as  persons  who  have  great 
good  sense  without  knowing  it,  before  yet  the  reflective 
habit  has  become  the  predominant  habit  of  the  mind, 
Our  admiration  is  not  admiration  of  the  old,  but  of  the 
natural.  The  Greeks  are  not  reflective,  but  perfect  in 
their  senses,  with  the  finest  physical  organization  in  the 
world.  Adults  acted  with  the  simplicity  and  grace  of 
children.  They  made  vases,  tragedies,  and  statues,  such 
as  healthy  senses  should — that  is,  in  good  taste.  Such 
things  have  continued  to  be  made  in  all  ages,  and  are 
now,  wherever  a  healthy  physique  exists  ;  but  as  a  class, 
from  their  superior  organization,  the  Greeks  have  sur 
passed  all.  They  combine  the  energy  of  manhood  with 
the  engaging  unconsciousness  of  the  child.  The  attrac 
tion  of  their  manners  is  that  they  belong  to  man,  and 
are  know  to  every  man,  in  virtue  of  his  being  once  a 
child;  besides  that,  there  are  always  individuals  who 
retain  these  characteristics. 


THE  ESSAYS.  169 

"  A  person  of  childlike  genius  and  unborn  energy  is 
still  a  Greek,  and  revives  our  love  of  the  Muse  of  Hellas. 
I  admire  the  love  of  Nature  in  the  'Philoctetes.'  In 
reading  those  fine  apostrophes  to  sleep,  to  the  stars, 
rocks,  mountain,  and  waves,  I  feel  time  passing  away  as 
an  ebbing  sea.  I  feel  the  eternity  of  man,  the  identity 
of  his  thought.  The  Greek  had,  it  seems,  the  same  fel 
low-beings  as  I.  The  sun  and  moon,  water  and  fire,  met 
his  heart  precisely  as  they  meet  mine.  Then  the  vaunted 
distinction  between  Greek  and  English,  between  classic 
and  romantic  schools,  seems  superficial  and  pedantic. 
"When  a  thought  of  Plato  becomes  a  thought  to  me,  when 
a  truth  that  fired  the  soul  of  Pindar  fires  mine,  time  is 
no  more.  When  I  feel  that  we  two  meet  in  a  perception 
— that  our  two  souls  are  tinged  with  the  same  hue,  and 
do,  as  it  were,  run  into  one — why  should  I  measure  de 
grees  of  latitude  ?  Why  should  I  count  Egyptian  years  ? " 

The  same  pregnant  thought  is  presented  with 
illustrations  from  all  sides ;  and  the  essay  thus 
concludes  : 

HOW   HISTORY   SHOULD   BE  EEAD   AND   WRITTEN. 

"  In  the  light  of  these  two  facts,  that  the  mind  is 
one,  and  that  Nature  is  its  correlative,  history  is  to  be 
read  and  written.  The  pupil  shall  pass  through  the 
whole  cycle  of  experience.  He  shall  collect  into  a  focus 
the  rays  of  Nature.  History  shall  no  longer  be  a  dull 
book;  it  shall  walk  incarnate  in  every  just  and  wise 
man.  You  shall  not  tell  me  by  languages  and  titles  a 
catalogue  of  the  volumes  you  have  read ;  you  shall  make 
me  feel  what  periods  you  have  lived.  A  man  shall  be 
the  Temple  of  Fame.  He  shall  walk,  as  the  poets  have 


170  EMERSON. 

described  that  goddess,  in  a  robe  painted  all  over  with 
wonderful  events  and  experiences;  his  own  form  and 
features,  by  that  exalted  intelligence,  shall  be  that  varie 
gated  vest.  I  shall  find  in  him  the  fore-world ;  in  his 
childhood  the  age  of  gold ;  the  apples  of  knowledge ; 
the  Argonautic  expedition;  the  calling  of  Abraham; 
the  building  of  the  Temple;  the  advent  of  Christ;  the 
Dark  Ages ;  the  Revival  of  Letters ;  the  Reformation ; 
the  discovery  of  new  lands ;  the  opening  of  new  sciences 
and  new  regions  in  man.  He  shall  be  the  priest  of  Pan, 
and  bring  with  him  into  humble  cottages  the  blessing  of 
the  morning  stars,  and  all  the  recorded  benefits  of  heaven 
and  earth. 

"Is  there  something  overweening  in  this  claim? 
Then  I  reject  all  I  have  written ;  for  what  is  the  use  of 
pretending  to  know  what  we  know  not  ?  But  it  is  the 
fault  of  our  rhetoric  that  we  can  not  strongly  state  one 
fact,  without  seeming  to  belie  some  other.  I  hold  our 
actual  knowledge  very  cheap.  What  connection  do  the 
books  show  between  the  fifty  or  sixty  chemical  elements 
and  the  historical  eras?  Nay,  what  does  history  yet 
record  of  the  metaphysical  annals  of  man  ?  What  light 
does  it  shed  on  those  mysteries  which  we  hide  under  the 
names  of  death  and  immortality?  Yet  every  history 
should  be  written  in  a  wisdom  which  divined  the  range 
of  our  affinities,  and  looked  at  facts  as  symbols. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  see  what  a  shallow  village  tale  our 
so-called  history  is.  Broader  and  deeper  must  we  write 
our  annals — from  an  ethical  reformation,  from  the  influx 
of  the  ever-new,  ever-sanative  conscience — if  we  would 
truly  express  our  central  and  wide-related  nature,  instead 
of  this  old  chronology  of  selfishness  and  pride,  to  which 
we  have  too  long  lent  our  eyes.  Already  that  exists  for 


THE  ESSAYS.  171 

us,  shines  in  on  us  unawares ;  but  the  path  of  science 
and  of  letters  is  not  the  way  into  Nature.  The  idiot, 
the  Indian,  the  child,  an  unschooled  farmer's  boy,  stand 
nearer  to  the  light  by  which  Nature  is  to  be  read  than 
the  dissector  or  the  antiquary." 

Here,  again,  we  must  guard  ourselves  against 
the  constant  persistency  which  permeates  all  of 
Emerson's  mode  of  thought  and  way  of  express 
ing  it.  His  conceptions  vary  with  his  moods  and 
experiences  ;  and  here  presents  the  one  conception 
which  he  has  at  any  particular  time  as  the  one 
which  is  not  only  true,  but  the  truth.  Thus,  in 
a  few  pages  before  he  has  dwelt  admiringly  upon 
the  Greek  history ;  here  history,  as  written,  is  al 
most  less  than  worthless.  This  involves  him  in 
perpetual  inconsistencies,  and  of  this  he  is  quite 
aware.  But  for  consistency  he  has  a  most  sover 
eign  contempt,  which  he  thus  expresses  in  the 
essay  upon  "Self-Reliance." 

CONSISTENCY. 

"  For  non-conforinity  the  world  whips  you  with  its 
displeasure;  and  therefore  a  man  must  know  how  to 
estimate  a  sour  face.  .  .  .  The  other  terror  that  scares 
us  from  self-trust  is  our  consistency ;  a  reverence  for 
past  act  or  word,  because  the  eyes  of  others  have  no 
other  data  for  computing  our  orbit  than  our  past  acts, 
and  we  are  loth  to  disappoint  them.  But  why  should 
you  keep  you  head  over  your  shoulder?  Why  drag 
about  this  corpse  of  your  memory,  lest  you  contradict 
somewhat  you  have  stated  in  this  or  that  public  place? 


A72  EMERSON. 

Suppose  you  should  contradict  yourself ;  what  then  ?  It 
seems  to  be  a  rule  of  wisdom  never  to  rely  upon  your 
memory  even  in  acts  of  pure  memory ;  but  to  bring  the 
past  for  judgment  into  the  thousand-eyed  present,  and 
live  ever  in  a  new  day.  In  your  metaphysics  you  have 
denied  personality  to  the  Deity ;  and  yet  when  the  de 
vout  motions  of  the  soul  come,  yield  to  them  with  heart 
and  life,  though  they  should  clothe  God  with  shape  and 
color.  Leave  your  theory,  as  Joseph  his  coat  in  the  hand 
of  the  harlot,  and  flee. 

"A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little 
minds,  adored  by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and 
divines.  With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  little  or 
nothing  to  do.  He  may  as  well  concern  himself  with  his 
shadow  on  the  wall.  Speak  what  you  think  now,  in 
hard  words;  and  to-morrow  speak  what  to-morrow 
thinks,  in  hard  words  again,  though  it  contradict  every 
thing  you  said  to-day.  'Ah,  so  you  shall  be  sure  to  be 
misunderstood ! '  Is  it  so  bad,  then,  to  be  misunder 
stood?  Pythagoras  was  misunderstood,  and  Socrates, 
and  Jesus,  and  Luther,  and  Copernicus,  Galileo,  and 
Newton,  and  every  wise  spirit  that  ever  took  flesh.  To 
be  great  is  to  be  misunderstood." 

This,  again,  is  one  of  Emerson's  half  truths, 
or,  rather,  partial  presentations  of  the  truth.  We 
certainly  have  the  right  to  be  more  wise  to-day 
than  we  were  yesterday,  and  wiser  to-morrow  than 
we  are  to-day.  But  we  hold  that  it  is  not  wise 
to  speak  the  thought  of  to-day  until  we  are  thor 
oughly  assured  that  it  is  the  true  thought,  or  at 
least  true  so  far  as  it  goes.  The  wise  man  does 
not  look  upon  other  men  as  so  many  slop-bowls 


THE  ESSAYS.  173 

into  which  he  may  vomit  the  undigested  ideas  of 
the  moment.  When  he  has  come  to  believe  that 
these  ideas  are  true  ones,  then,  and  then  only,  let 
him  utter  them.  Should  he  in  after-time  come  to 
consider  them  erroneous,  then  let  him  utter  those 
which  wider  thought  has  convinced  him  to  be 
true,  although  they  should  contravene  anything  or 
everything  which  he  had  before  said.  It  may  be 
the  case  that  his  first  conception  which  he  had 
expressed,  and  subsequently  rejected,  was,  after 
all,  the  true  one.  Newton  had  elaborated  his  the 
ory  of  gravitation  ;  but  when  he  came  to  apply  it 
to  certain  essential  facts  of  the  case,  as  then  known, 
he  abandoned  the  theory  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
Then  fresh  physical  investigation  showed  that  the 
theory  was  correct,  and  that  the  fault  lay  in  the 
erroneous  observations  of  these  important  facts. 
Thus  corrected,  he  returned  to  his  original  theory, 
and  demonstrated  it  to  be  the  true  one,  because  it 
explained  all  the  phenomena  to  which  it  related. 
Something  like  this  has  been  the  case  with  many, 
perhaps  most,  sincere  thinkers. 

We  have  thus  far  considered  Emerson  as  a  phi 
losopher  dwelling  in  ideal  regions,  propounding 
transcendental  theories,  which  do  not  bear  directly 
upon  the  affairs  of  the  conduct  of  our  daily  life. 
But  there  is  quite  another  side  to  his  intellectual 
character.  To  requote  the  words  of  Mr.  Whipple  : 
"  One  side  of  his  wisdom  is  worldly  wisdom.  The 
brilliant  transcendentalist  is  evidently  a  man  not 


174  EMERSON. 

easy  to  be  deceived  in  matters  pertaining  to  the  or 
dinary  course  of  human  affairs.  His  observations 
on  society,  on  manners,  on  character,  on  institu 
tions,  are  stamped  with  sagacity,  and  indicate  a 
familiar  knowledge  of  the  homely  phases  of  life, 
which  are  seldom  viewed  in  their  poetical  rela 
tions."  And,  moreover,  his  practical  life  has 
been  directed  by  this  homely  philosophy.  If 
speculatively  he  questions  the  actual  reality  of 
the  phenomena  which  surround  him,  he  practi 
cally  acts  as  though  they  were  real.  The  baker 
and  the  butcher,  and  their  bread  and  meat,  may  all 
be  mere  appearances  ;  but  none  the  less  does  he 
buy  and  consume  their  wares.  He  and  his  audi 
tors  and  readers  may  be  mere  phantoms — an  ap 
pearance  speaking  to  or  writing  for  appearances  ; 
but  none  the  less  does  he  address  them,  and  take 
his  lecture  fee  or  his  copyright  money.  This 
phase  of  his  philosophy  appears  prominent  in  the 
essays.  Thus,  in  the  one  upon  "Self-reliance," 
we  read  : 

SELF-EELIANOE. 

"Trust  thyself;  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron 
string.  Accept  the  place  the  Divine  Providence  has 
found  for  you — the  society  of  your  contemporaries,  the 
connection  of  events.  Great  men  have  always  done  so, 
and  confided  themselves,  childlike,  to  the  genius  of  their 
age,  betraying  their  perception  that  the  absolutely  trust 
worthy  was  seated  at  their  heart,  working  through  their 
hands,  predominating  in  all  their  being.  And  we  are 
now  men,  and  must  accept  in  the  highest  mind  the  same 


THE  ESSAYS.  175 

transcendent  destiny ;  and  not  minors  and  invalids  in  a 
protected  corner,  not  cowards  fleeing  before  a  revolu 
tion  ;  but  guides  and  redeemers  and  benefactors,  obeying 
the  almighty  effort,  and  advancing  on  chaos  and  the 
dark.  .  .  .  These  are  the  voices  which  we  hear  in  soli 
tude,  but  they  grow  faint  and  inaudible  as  we  enter  into 
the  world.  Society  is  a  joint-stock  company,  in  which 
the  members  agree,  for  the  better  securing  of  his  bread 
to  each  shareholder,  to  surrender  the  liberty  and  comfort 
of  the  eater.  The  virtue  in  most  request  is  conformity. 
Self-reliance  is  its  aversion.  It  loves  not  realities  and 
creators,  but  names  and  customs.  Whoso  would  be  a 
man  must  be  a  non-conformist.  He  who  would  gather 
immortal  palms  must  not  be  hindered  by  the  name  of 
goodness,  but  must  explore  if  it  be  goodness.  Nothing 
is  at  last  sacred  but  the  integrity  of  your  own  mind. 
Absolve  you  to  yourself,  and  you  shall  have  the  suffrage 
of  the  world." 

And  again,  still  following  his  theme  along 
another  path  : 

SELF-RELIANCE    AND   PBATEB. 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  a  greater  self-reliance  must 
work  a  revolution  in  all  the  offices  and  relations  of  men : 
in  their  religion,  their  education ;  in  their  pursnits,  their 
modes  of  living,  their  association ;  in  their  property,  in 
their  speculative  views.  In  what  prayers  do  men  allow 
themselves !  That  which  they  call  a  holy  office  is  not  so 
much  as  brave  and  manly.  Prayer  looks  abroad,  and 
asks  for  some  foreign  addition  to  come  through  some 
foreign  virtue,  and  loses  itself  in  endless  mazes  of  natu 
ral  and  supernatural  and  mediatorial  and  miraculous. 


176  EMERSON. 

Prayer  that  craves  a  particular  commodity — anything 
less  than  all  good — is  vicious.  Prayer  is  the  contempla 
tion  of  facts  of  life  from  the  highest  point  of  view.  It  is 
the  soliloquy  of  a  beholding  and  jubilant  soul ;  but  pray 
er  as  a  means  to  effect  a  private  end  is  meanness  and 
theft.  It  supposes  dualism  and  not  unity  in  nature  and 
consciousness.  As  soon  as  a  man  is  at  unity  with  God, 
he  will  not  beg.  He  will  then  see  prayer  in  all  action. 
The  prayer  of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his  field  to  weed  it, 
the  prayer  of  the  rower  kneeling  with  the  stroke  of  his 
oar,  are  true  prayers,  heard  throughout  nature,  though 
for  cheap  ends." 

FALSE    PEAYEES. 

"  Another  sort  of  false  prayers  are  our  regrets.  Dis 
content  is  the  want  of  self-reliance;  it  is  infirmity  of 
will.  Regret  calamities,  if  you  can  thereby  help  the 
sufferer ;  if  not,  attend  your  own  work,  and  already  the 
evil  begins  to  be  repaired.  Our  sympathy  is  just  as 
base.  We  come  to  them  who  weep  foolishly  and  sit 
down  and  cry  for  company,  instead  of  imparting  to  them 
truth  and  health  in  rough  electric  shocks,  putting  them 
once  more  in  communication  with  their  own  reason." 

We  suppose  that  Emerson  would  join  heartily 
in  the  petitions  of  the  Lord's  Prayer ;  but  we 
imagine  that  his  devotions  would  quite  as  fully 
find  expression  in  that  comprehensive  old  Greek 
prayer  which  we  find  in  the  so-called  "  Homeric 
Fragments  "  : 

"O  Sovran  Jove!  asked  or  unasked,  supply  all  good; 
All  evil — though  implored — deny." 


THE  ESSAYS.  177 

Another  passage,  bearing  closely  upon  self- 
reliance,  is  this  : 

TRAVELING   AND   IMITATION. 

"  But  the  rage  of  traveling  is  a  symptom  of  a  deeper 
unsoundness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual  action.  The 
intellect  is  vagabond,  and  our  system  of  education  fosters 
restlessness.  Our  minds  travel  when  our  bodies  are 
forced  to  stay  at  home.  We  imitate ;  and  what  is  imita 
tion  but  the  traveling  of  the  mind?  Our  houses  are 
built  with  foreign  taste ;  our  shelves  are  garnished  with 
foreign  ornaments ;  our  opinions,  our  tastes,  our  facul 
ties,  lean  and  follow  the  past  and  the  distant.  The  soul 
created  the  arts  wherever  they  have  flourished.  It  was 
in  his  own  mind  that  the  artist  sought  his  model.  It 
was  an  application  of  his  own  thought  to  the  thing  that 
ought  to  be  done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed. 
And  why  need  we  copy  the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  model? 
Beauty,  convenience,  grandeur  of  thought,  and  quaint 
expression  are  as  near  to  us  as  to  any ;  and  if  the  Ameri 
can  artist  will  study  with  hope  and  love  the  precise  thing 
to  be  done  by  him — considering  the  climate,  the  soil,  the 
length  of  the  day,  the  wants  of  the  people,  the  habits, 
and  the  form  of  the  government — he  will  create  a  house 
in  which  all  of  these  will  find  themselves  fitted,  and  taste 
and  sentiment  will  be  satisfied  also." 

Here,  again,  with  all  its  keen  shrewdness  and 
wit,  one  may  find  traces  of  a  one-sided  view  of 
the  matter  in  hand.  There  is  an  advantage  in 
traveling,  even  for  amusement,  provided  always 
that  the  amusement  does  not  take  an  ignoble 
12 


178  EMERSON. 

turn.  The  man  who  travels  with  no  definite  ulte 
rior  purpose  of  study  or  benevolence  will  yet  not 
fail  to  learn  something  of  value.  He  sees  man 
and  Mature  under  fresh  aspects  ;  learns  that  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  home  do  not  include  the 
world ;  that  men  are  yet  men,  although  they  do 
not  eat  and  dress,  speak  and  move  just  as  he 
does.  The  mere  tourist,  who  goes  from  the  east 
to  the  west  or  from  the  west  to  the  east,  from 
the  north  to  the  south  or  from  the  south  to  the 
north,  from  America  to  Europe  or  from  Europe 
to  America,  can  hardly  fail  to  bring  back  some 
thing  with  him — something  which  has  enlarged 
his  scope  of  vision,  and  made  him  more  of  a  man. 
It  is  something  to  have  seen  the  strength  or  the 
weakness  of  living  empires,  or  to  have  stood  by 
the  graves  of  dead  empires ;  to  have  seen  St. 
Peter's  and  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne  ;  to  have 
looked  at  Luxor  or  Karnak,  the  ruins  of  the  Par 
thenon  or  the  Colosseum ;  to  have  trod  the  Mount 
of  Olives  or  have  seen  the  black  stone  at  Mecca. 
It  gets  a  man,  for  a  time  at  least,  out  of  himself, 
out  of  his  old  narrow  ruts. 

The  other  side  of  this  view  of  traveling  is  else 
where  insisted  upon  by  Emerson — as  strongly  in 
sisted  upon  as  we  can  do.  His  first  visit  to  Europe 
was  made  simply  for  recreation  ;  he  went  thith 
er  in  order  to  bring  back  something  which  he  did 
not  carry  with  him.  He  went  to  England  just 
that  he  might  see,  for  a  few  minutes  or  hours, 


THE  ESSAYS.  179 

half  a  dozen  famous  men  whose  writings  he  had 
read.  This  travel,  undertaken  with  no  definite 
intellectual  purposes  beyond  seeing  the  people  and 
the  country,  was  no  "fool's  paradise."  From  it 
he  brought  back  what  he  did  not  carry  with  him  : 
restored  health,  recuperated  spirits,  a  rejuvenated 
youth,  which  enabled  him  to  perform  the  new 
duties  which  were  to  be  imposed  upon  him  in  the 
new  career  to  which  he  was  to  be  called. 

The  essay  on  "  Compensation  "  embodies  some 
teaching  which  runs  quite  counter  to  very  much 
which  is  commonly  inculcated.  He  says  : 

ON   COMPENSATION. 

"  Ever  since  I  was  a  boy  I  have  wished  to  write  a 
discourse  on  '  Compensation ' ;  for  it  seemed  to  me,  when 
very  young,  that  on  this  subject  life  was  ahead  of  theolo 
gy,  and  the  people  knew  more  than  the  preachers  taught. 
It  seemed  to  me  also  that  in  it  might  be  shown  to  men  a 
ray  of  divinity — the  present  action  of  the  soul  of  the 
world,  clean  from  all  vestige  of  tradition ;  and  so  the  heart 
of  man  might  be  bathed  by  an  inundation  of  eternal  love, 
conversing  with  that  which  he  knows  was  always,  and 
always  must  le,  because  it  really  is  now.  It  appears, 
moreover,  that  if  this  doctrine  could  be  stated  in  terms 
with  any  resemblance  to  those  bright  intuitions  in  which 
this  truth  is  sometimes  revealed  to  us,  it  would  be  a  star 
in  many  dark  hours  and  crooked  passages  in  our  journey 
that  would  not  suffer  us  to  lose  the  way. 

"  I  was  lately  confirmed  in  these  desires  by  hearing  a 
sermon  at  church.  The  preacher,  a  man  esteemed  for 
his  orthodoxy,  unfolded  in  the  ordinary  manner  the  doc- 


180  EMERSON. 

trine  of  the  last  judgment.  He  assumed  that  judgment 
is  not  executed  in  this  world ;  that  the  wicked  are  suc 
cessful  ;  that  the  good  are  miserable ;  and  then  urged, 
from  reason  and  from  Scripture,  a  compensation  to  be 
made  to  both  parties  in  the  next  life.  No  offense  ap 
peared  to  be  taken  by  the  congregation  at  this  doctrine. 
As  far  as  I  could  observe,  when  the  meeting  broke  up 
they  separated  without  remark  on  the  sermon. 

"  Yet  what  was  the  import  of  this  teaching?  What 
did  the  preacher  mean  by  saying  that  the  good  are  mis 
erable  in  the  present  life  ?  Was  it  that  houses  and  lands, 
offices,  wine,  horses,  dress,  luxury,  are  had  by  unprinci 
pled  men,  while  the  saints  are  poor  and  despised;  and 
that  a  compensation  is  to  be  made  to  these  last  here 
after,  by  giving  them  the  like  gratifications  another  day 
— bank-stock  and  doubloons,  venison  and  champagne  ? 
This  must  be  the  compensation  intended,  for  what  else  ? 
Is  it  that  they  have  leave  to  love,  and  pray,  and  praise  ? 
to  love  and  serve  men  ?  Why,  that  they  can  do  now. 
The  legitimate  inference  the  disciple  would  draw  was, 
'  We  are  to  have  such  a  good  time  as  the  sinners  have 
now ' ;  or,  to  push  it  to  its  extreme  point,  '  You  sin 
now,  we  shall  sin  by  and  by ;  we  would  sin  now,  if  we 
could ;  not  being  successful,  we  expect  our  revenge  to 
morrow.' 

"  The  fallacy  lay  in  the  immense  concession  that  the 
bad  are  successful,  that  justice  is  not  done  now.  The 
blindness  of  the  preacher  consisted  in  deferring  to  the 
base  estimate  of  the  market  value  of  what  constitutes  a 
manly  success,  instead  of  confronting  and  convicting  the 
world  from  the  truth,  announcing  the  presence  of  the 
soul,  the  omnipotence  of  the  will,  and  so  establishing 
the  standard  of  good  and  ill,  of  success  and  falsehood." 


THE  ESSAYS.  181 

At  the  outset  Emerson  states  fairly  the  doc 
trine  of  compensation  in  the  future  life  for  any 
wrong  or  injury  suffered  in  this,  as  laid  down  by 
the  preacher  and  apparently  accepted  by  the  con 
gregation.  But  when  he  puts  forth  his  own  ver 
sion  of  it,  and  to  "push  it  to  its  extreme  import," 
the  result  is  a  caricature.  Those  who  accept  the 
doctrine  do  not  believe  that  the  compensation  to 
be  made  to  the  good  hereafter  is  to  be  of  the  same 
kind  with  the  good  which  the  wicked  are  assumed 
to  enjoy  here,  and  of  which  the  good  are  deprived  ; 
that,  because  the  good  are  here  without  a  penny, 
they  shall  have  pocketfuls  of  doubloons  in  the 
hereafter  ;  that,  because  they  have  here  eaten 
roots,  and  drank  water,  they  shall  in  the  here 
after  revel  in  venison  and  champagne.  But,  on 
the  contrary,  they  hold  that  the  good  which  it  is 
claimed  they  will  enjoy  will  be  infinitely  higher, 
not  in  degree  but  in  kind.  For  partial  misery 
here,  they  shall  have  perfect  bliss  hereafter. 

"We  agree  as  little  as  Emerson  can  do,  even 
with  this  doctrine  of  compensation.  To  our 
minds  there  is  no  compensation  in  the  case  as 
sumed,  nor,  indeed,  could  be.  If  a  man  defrauds 
me,  so  that  for  long  years  I  undergo  the  hardest 
privations,  and  must  perform  the  most  irksome 
tasks,  he  makes  me  no  compensation,  if,  at  last, 
he  not  only  restores  what  was  mine,  but  thereto 
adds  uncounted  millions.  If  one  so  slanders  me 
that  I  lose  good  name,  and  am  esteemed  an  in- 


182  EMERSON. 

grate  and  a  villain,  he  makes  me  no  compensa 
tion  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  me,  if  at  some 
future  day  he  shall  give  me  a  thousand  certificates 
of  my  perfect  integrity  and  virtue.  If  I  have 
been  wrongfully  convicted  of  some  great  crime, 
and  am  confined  for  years  as  a  felon,  and,  at 
length,  my  innocence  being  proved,  not  only  are 
the  prison  doors  opened  to  me,  but  the  Govern 
ment  gives  me  a  large  pension,  still  there  is  no 
compensation  in  any  true  sense  of  the  word. 
Those  lost  years  of  my  life  can  never  be  restored 
to  me. 

Though  I  have  suffered  deep  wrong,  jury  and 
judge  may  have  done  none,  for  they  acted  hon 
estly  and  justly  in  view  of  the  evidence  before 
them.  Not  so  in  the  case  of  the  Divine  Govern 
ment.  It  knew  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  and  if, 
as  is  assumed,  wrong  has  been  done  to  the  good, 
the  Omniscient  Euler  of  all  things  has  done  it. 
The  only  escape  from  this  conclusion  is  the  denial 
of  the  assumption  that  any  wrong  has  been  done  ; 
that,  notwithstanding  all  appearances  to  the  con 
trary,  as  judged  by  our  finite  minds,  the  Euler 
and  Judge  of  all  rules  as  justly  and  judges  as 
rightly  in  this  world  as  he  will  in  the  future 
world. 

But,  when  Emerson  comes  to  the  preparation 
of  his  long-meditated  discourse  on  "  Compensa 
tion,"  he  shifts  the  meaning  of  the  term  from 
that  sense  in  which  it  was  employed  by  the 


THE  ESSAYS.  183 

preacher  whom  he  had  criticised.  By  compen 
sation  the  preacher  meant  a  making  up  in  the 
future  life  for  the  wrongs  inflicted  in  this.  With 
Emerson,  compensation  is  such  a  balance  and  ad 
justment  of  things,  diverse,  and  sometimes  ap 
parently  contrary,  that  in  the  constant  result  the 
right  end  is  attained.  The  vari-colored  rays  of 
the  solar  spectrum,  when  combined  in  one,  pro 
duce  a  perfect  white  ;  the  nice  balance  between 
the  centripetal  and  the  centrifugal  forces  keeps 
the  planets  in  their  predestined  orbits  and  the 
stars  in  their  courses,  preserving  the  harmony 
of  the  most  ancient  heavens.  This  idea  is 
elaborated  in  the  essay  on  "  Compensation,"  and 
in  another  upon  "Spiritual  Laws."  The  whole 
train  of  thought  and  the  result  of  it  are  well 
summed  up  in  three  stanzas  of  verse  which 
stand  as  mottoes  for  the  two  essays,  and  are  also 
among  the  best  and  most  characteristic  of  Emer 
son's  poems. 

COMPENSATION   AND   SPIRITUAL   LAWS. 

"  The  wings  of  Time  are  black  and  white, 
Bed  with  morning  and  with  night. 
Mountain  tall  and  ocean  deep, 
Trembling  balance  duly  keep. 
In  changing  moon,  in  tidal  wave, 
Grows  the  feud  of  want  and  have. 
Gauge  more  and  less,  through  space 
Electric  star  and  pencil  plays. 


184  EMERSON. 

The  lonely  earth  amid  the  balls 
That  hang  through  the  eternal  halls, 
A  makeweight,  flying  to  the  void, 
Supplemental  asteroid, 
Or  compensatory  spark, 
Shoots  across  the  neutral  dark. 

"  Man's  the  elm,  and  wealth  the  vine ; 
Stanch  and  strong  the  tendrils  twine ; 
Though  the  frail  tendrils  thee  deceive, 
None  from  its  stock  that  vine  can  reave. 
Fear  not,  then,  thou  child  infirm ; 
There's  no  god  dare  wrong  a  worm. 
Laurel  crown  cleaves  to  deserts, 
And  power  to  him  who  power  exerts ; 
Hast  not  thy  share  ?     On  winge"  d  feet, 
Lo !  it  rushes  thee  to  meet ; 
And  all  that  Nature  made  thy  own, 
Floating  in  air  or  pent  in  stone, 
Will  ride  the  hills  and  swim  the  sea, 
And,  like  thy  shadow,  follow  thee. 

"  The  living  heavens  thy  prayers  respect ; 
House  at  once  and  architect ; 
Quarrying  man's  rejected  hours, 
Builds  there  with  eternal  towers  ; 

Sole  and  self-commanded  works ; 
Fears  not  undermining  days, 
Grows  by  decays, 

And,  by  the  famous  might  that  lurks 
In  reaction  and  recoil, 
Makes  flame  to  freeze,  and  ice  to  boil ; 
Forging,  through  swart  arms  of  offense, 
The  silver  seal  of  innocence." 


THE   ESSAYS.  185 

Thoughtful  all  this,  and  true  as  far  as  it  goes  ; 
but  very  far  from  what  he  had  hoped — that  this 
doctrine  of  compensation  would  be  "a  star  in 
many  dark  hours  and  crooked  passages  in  our 
journey,  that  would  not  suffer  us  to  lose  our  way." 
Emerson  seems  to  have  been  aware  that  he  could 
only  to  a  limited  extent  achieve  what  he  had 
proposed;  for,  almost  at  the  opening  of  the  es 
say,  he  says  :  "  I  shall  attempt  in  this  and  the 
following  chapter"  (on  Spiritual  Laws)  "tore- 
cord  some  facts  that  indicate  the  path  of  the  law 
of  compensation ;  happy  beyond  my  expectation 
if  I  shall  truly  draw  the  smallest  arc  of  this  cir 
cle."  And  this  expression  of  premonitory  misgiv 
ings  must  stand  also  as  the  expression  of  his  final 
judgment  upon  the  completed  result. 

The  essay  on  "  Friendship  "  is  a  most  delight 
ful  one.  We  may  accept  every  word  of  it  just  as* 
it  stands  without  finding  one  representation  ap 
parently  contradicted  by  another.  We  quote  pas 
sages  from  a  few  paragraphs,  omitting  many  oth 
ers  not  less  worthy  of  citation  : 

IS   FEIENDSHIP   IMMORTAL? 

"  Will  these,  too,  separate  themselves  from  me  again, 
or  some  of  them  ?  I  know  not,  but  I  fear  not,  for  mj 
relation  to  them  is  so  pure  that  we  hold  by  simple  affin 
ity,  and,  the  genius  of  my  life  being  thus  social,  the  same 
affinity  will  exert  its  energy  on  whomsoever  is  as  noble 
as  these  men  and  women,  wherever  I  may  be.  I  confess 
to  an  extreme  tenderness  of  nature  on  this  point.  It  is 


18(5  EMERSON. 

almost  dangerous  to  me  to  4  crush  the  sweet  poison  of 
the  affections.'  A  new  person  is  to  me  often  a  great 
event,  and  hinders  me  from  sleep.  I  have  often  had  fine 
fancies  about  persons,  which  have  given  me  delicious 
hours ;  but  the  joy  ends  with  the  day ;  it  yields  no  fruit. 
Thought  is  not  born  of  it ;  my  action  is  very  little  modi 
fied.  I  must  feel  pride  in  my  friend's  accomplishments 
as  if  they  were  mine,  and  a  property  in  his  virtues.  I 
feel  as  warmly  when  he  is  praised  as  the  lover  when  he 
hears  applause  of  his  engaged  maiden.  We  over-esti 
mate  the  conscience  of  our  friend.  His  goodness  seems 
better  than  our  goodness ;  his  nature  finer,  his  tempta 
tions  less.  Our  own  thought  sounds  new  and  larger  from 
his  mouth.  Yet  the  systole  and  the  diastole  of  the  heart 
are  not  without  their  analogy  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  love. 
Friendship,  like  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  is  too  good 
to  bn  believed.  The  lover,  beholding  his  maiden,  half 
knows  that  she  is  not  verily  that  which  he  worships. 
And,  in  the  golden  hour  of  friendship,  we  are  surprised 
with  shades  of  suspicion  and  unbelief.  We  doubt  that 
we  bestow  on  our  hero  the  virtues  in  which  he  shines, 
and  afterward  worship  the  form  to  which  we  have  as 
cribed  this  divine  inhabitation." 

EEAL    FEIENDSHIPS. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  treat  friendships  daintily,  but  with 
roughest  courage.  When  they  are  real,  they  are  not 
glass  'threads  or  frost-work,  but  the  solidest  things  we 
know.  The  sweet  sincerity  of  joy  and  peace  which  I 
draw  from  this  alliance  with  my  brother's  soul  is  the 
nut  itself  whereof  all  Nature  and  all  Thought  is  but  the 
husk  and  shell.  Happy  is  the  house  which  shelters  a 
friend !  It  might  well  be  built,  like  a  festal  bower  or 


THE  ESSAYS.  187 


arch,  to  entertain  him  a  single  day.  Happier  if  he 
knows  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  honors  its  law. 
He  who  offers  himse1^  a  candidate  for  that  covenant 
comes  up  like  an  Olympian,  to  the  great  games  where 
the  first-born  of  the  world  are  the  competitors.  He 
proposes  himself  for  contests  where  time,  want,  danger, 
are  in  the  lists;  and  he  alone  is  victor  who  has  truth 
enough  in  his  constitution  to  preserve  the  delicacy  of  his 
beauty  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  all  these." 

TRUTH   IN   FRIENDSHIP. 

"  There  are  two  elements  that  go  to  the  composition 
of  friendship,  each  so  sovereign  that  I  can  detect  no 
superiority  in  either,  no  reason  why  either  should  be 
first  named.  One  is  truth.  A  friend  is  a  person  with 
whom  I  may  be  sincere.  Before  him  I  may  think  aloud. 
I  am  arrived  at  last  in  the  presence  of  a  man  so  real  and 
equal  that  I  may  drop  even  those  undermost  garments  of 
dissimulation,  courtesy,  and  second  thought,  which  men 
never  put  off,  and  may  deal  with  him  with  the  simplicity 
and  wholeness  with  which  one  chemical  atom  meets 
another." 

TENDERNESS   IN   FRIENDSHIP. 

"  The  other  clement  of  friendship  is  tenderness.  We 
are  holden  to  men  by  every  sort  of  tie ;  by  blood,  by 
pride,  by  fear,  by  hope,  by  lucre,  by  lust,  by  hate,  by 
admiration;  by  every  circumstance,  and  badge,  and 
trifle ;  but  we  can  scarce  believe  that  so  much  character 
can  subsist  in  another  as  to  draw  us  by  love.  Can 
another  be  so  blessed,  and  we  so  pure,  that  we  can  offer 
him  tenderness?  I  find  very  little  written  directly  to 
this  matter  in  books;  and  yet  I  have  one  test  which  I 


188  EMERSON. 

can  not  choose  but  remember.  My  author  says :  '  I  offer 
myself  faintly  and  bluntly  to  those  whose  effectually  I 
am ;  and  tender  myself  least  to  him  to  whom  I  am  the 
most  devoted.'  The  end  of  friendship  is  a  commerce  the 
most  strict  and  homely  that  can  be  joined ;  more  strict 
that  any  of  which  we  have  experience.  It  is  for  aid  and 
comfort  through  all  the  relations  and  passages  of  life  and 
death.  It  is  fit  for  serene  days  and  graceful  gifts,  and 
country  rambles ;  but  also  for  rough  roads  and  hard  fare, 
shipwreck,  poverty,  and  persecution.  It  keeps  company 
with  the  sallies  of  the  wit  and  the  trances  of  religion. 
We  are  to  dignify  to  each  other  the  daily  needs  and  offices 
of  man's  life,  and  embellish  it  by  courage,  wisdom,  and 
unity.  It  should  never  fall  into  something  usual  and 
settled,  but  should  be  alert  and  inventive,  and  add  rhyme 
and  reason  to  what  was  drudgery." 

CONVEKSATION   IN  FEIKNDSHIP. 

"  Friendship  may  be  said  to  require  natures  so  rare  and 
costly,  each  so  well-tempered  and  so  happily  adapted,  and 
withal  so  circumstanced,  that  its  satisfaction  can  very  sel 
dom  be  assured.  It  can  not  subsist  in  its  perfection — say 
some  of  those  who  are  learned  in  the  warm  lore  of  the 
heart — betwixt  more  than  two.  I  am  not  quite  so  strict 
in  my  terms  perhaps,  because  I  have  never  known  so  high 
a  fellowship  as  others.  I  please  my  imagination  more 
with  a  circle  of  godlike  men  and  women  variously  related 
to  each  other,  and  between  whom  exists  a  lofty  intelli 
gence.  But  I  find  this  law  of  one  to  one  peremptory  to 
conversation,  which  is  the  practice  and  consummation  of 
friendship.  Do  not  mix  waters  too  much.  The  best  mix 
as  ill  as  good  and  bad.  You  shall  have  very  useful  and 
cheering  discourse  at  several  times  with  two  several  men; 


THE  ESSAYS.  189 

but  let  the  three  of  you  come  together,  and  you  shall  not 
have  one  new  and  hearty  word.  Two  may  talk,  and  one 
may  hear ;  but  three  can  not  take  part  in  a  conversation 
of  the  most  sincere  and  hearty  sort.  In  good  company 
there  is  never  such  discourse  between  two  across  the 
table  as  takes  place  when  you  leave  them  alone.  In  good 
company  the  individuals  merge  their  egotism  into  a  so 
cial  soul  exactly  coextensive  with  the  several  conscious 
nesses  there  present.  No  partialities  of  friend  to  friend, 
no  fondness  of  brother  to  sister,  of  wife  to  husband,  are 
there  pertinent,  but  quite  otherwise.  Only  he  may  then 
speak  who  can  sail  on  the  common  thought  of  the  party, 
and  is  not  poorly  limited  to  his  own.  Now,  this  conven 
tion,  which  good  sense  demands,  destroys  the  high  free 
dom  of  great  conversation,  which  requires  an  absolute 
running  of  two  souls  into  one." 

SOME   AFTEE-THOUGHTS   ON  FBIENDSHIP. 

"  It  has  seemed  to  me  lately  more  possible  than  I 
knew,  to  carry  a  friendship  greatly  on  one  side,  without 
due  correspondence  on  the  other.  Why  should  I  cumber 
myself  with  regrets  that  the  receiver  is  not  capacious  ? 
It  never  troubles  the  sun  that  some  of  his  rays  fall  wide 
and  vain  into  ungrateful  space,  and  only  a  small  part  on 
the  reflecting  planet.  Let  your  greatness  educate  the 
cold  and  crude  companion.  If  he  is  unequal,  he  will 
presently  pass  away.  It  is  thought  a  disgrace  to  love 
unrequited.  But  the  great  will  see  that  true  love  can 
not  be  unrequited.  True  love  transcends  the  unworthy 
object,  and  dwells  and  broods  on  the  eternal;  and,  when 
the  poor  interposed  mask  crumbles,  it  is  not  sad,  but  feels 
rid  of  so  much  earth,  and  feels  its  independency  the 
surer.  Yet  these  things  may  hardly  be  said  without  a 


190  EMERSON. 

sort  of  treachery  to  the  relation.  The  essence  of  friend 
ship  is  entireness,  a  total  magnanimity  and  trust.  It 
must  not  surmise  or  provide  for  infirmity.  It  treats  its 
object  as  a  god  that  it  may  deify  both." 

The  essay  on  " Prudence"  is  practical  enough 
to  suit  the  most  strenuous  materialist.  At  the 
outset  Emerson  makes  a  sort  of  half  apology  for 
writing  upon  such  a  theme.  "What  right  have 
I,"  he  says,  "to  write  on  prudence,  whereof  I 
have  little,  and  that  of  the  negative  sort  ?  My 
prudence  consists  in  avoiding  and  going  without, 
not  in  adroit  steering,  not  in  gentle  repairing.  I 
have  no  skill  to  make  money  spend  well,  no  genius 
in  my  economy ;  and  whoever  sees  my  garden  dis 
covers  that  I  must  have  some  other  garden.  Yet 
I  love  facts,  and  hate  lubricity,  and  people  with 
out  perception.  Then  I  have  the  same  right  to 
write  on  prudence  that  I  have  to  write  on  poetry 
or  holiness.  We  write  from  aspiration  and  antag 
onism,  as  well  as  from  experience.  We  paint  those 
qualities  which  we  do  not  possess.  Moreover,  it 
would  be  hardly  honest  in  me  not  to  balance  these 
fine  lyric  words  of  love  and  friendship  with  words 
of  coarser  sound,  and  whilst  my  debt  to  my  senses 
is  real  and  constant,  not  to  own  it  in  passing." 
The  nature  and  objects  of  prudence  are  charac 
teristically  set  forth : 

PBUDENCE — WHAT  AND  WHY   IT   IS. 

"Prudence  is  the  virtue  of  the  senses.  It  is  tho 
science  of  appearances.  It  is  the  outmost  action  of  the 


THE  ESSAYS.  191 

inward  life.  It  is  God  taking  thought  of  oxen.  It  moves 
matter  after  the  laws  of  matter.  It  is  content  to  seek 
health  of  body  by  complying  with  physical  conditions, 
and  health  of  mind  by  the  laws  of  the  intellect.  The 
world  of  the  senses  is  a  world  of  shows ;  it  does  not  exist 
for  itself,  but  has  a  symbolical  character ;  and  a  true 
prudence,  or  law  of  shows,  recognizes  the  co-presence 
of  other  laws,  and  knows  that  its  own  office  is  subaltern ; 
knows  that  it  is  surface  and  not  center  where  it  works. 
Prudence  is  false  when  detached.  It  is  legitimate 
when  it  is  the  natural  history  of  the  soul  incarnate; 
when  it  unfolds  the  beauty  of  laws  within  the  narrow 
scope  of  the  senses.  Prudence  does  not  go  behind  Na 
ture,  and  ask  whence  it  is.  It  takes  the  laws  of  the 
world,  whereby  man's  being  is  conditioned,  as  they  are, 
and  keeps  these  laws,  that  it  may  enjoy  their  proper 
good.  It  respects  space  and  time,  climate,  want,  sleep, 
the  law  of  polarity,  growth,  and  death. 

"We  are  instructed  by  the  petty  experiences  which 
usurp  the  hours  and  years.  The  hard  soil  and  four 
months  of  snow  make  the  inhabitant  of  the  northern 
temperate  zone  wiser  and  abler  than  his  fellow  who  en 
joys  the  fixed  smile  of  the  tropics.  The  southern 
islander  may  ramble  all  day  at  his  will.  At  night  he 
may  sleep  on  a  mat  under  the  moon ;  and,  wherever  a 
wild  date-tree  grows,  Nature  has,  without  a  prayer  even, 
spread  a  table  for  his  morning  meal.  The  northerner  is 
perforce  a  householder.  He  must  brew,  bake,  salt,  and 
preserve  his  food,  and  pile  wood  and  coal.  But  as  it 
happens  that  not  one  stroke  can  labor  lay  to  without 
some  new  acquaintance  with  Nature,  and  as  Nature  is  in 
exhaustibly  significant,  the  inhabitants  of  these  climates 
have  always  excelled  the  southerner  in  force. 


192  EMERSON. 

"  Such  is  the  value  of  these  matters,  that  a  man  who 
knows  other  matters  can  never  know  too  much  of  these. 
Let  him,  if  he  have  hands,  handle ;  if  eyes,  measure  and 
discriminate.  Let  him  accept  and  hive  every  fact  of 
chemistry,  natural  history,  and  economics.  The  more 
he  has,  the  less  is  he  disposed  to  spare  any  one ;  time  is 
always  bringing  occasions  that  disclose  their  value.  Some 
wisdom  comes  out  of  every  natural  and  innocent  action. 
The  domestic  man  who  loves  no  music  as  well  as  his 
kitchen  clock,  and  the  airs  which  the  logs  sing  to  him  as 
they  burn  on  the  hearth,  has  solaces  which  others  never 
dream  of.  The  application  of  means  to  ends  insures 
victory,  and  the  songs  of  victory,  not  less  in  a  farm  or  a 
shop  than  in  the  tactics  of  party  or  of  war.  Let  a  man 
keep  the  law — any  law — and  his  way  will  be  strewn  with 
satisfactions.  On  the  other  hand,  Nature  punishes  any 
neglect  of  prudence.  If  you  think  the  senses  final,  obey 
their  law.  If  you  believe  in  the  soul,  do  not  clutch  at 
sensual  sweetness  before  it  is  ripe  on  the  slow  tree  of 
cause  and  effect.  The  beautiful  laws  of  Nature,  once  dis 
located  by  our  inaptitude,  are  holes  and  dens.  If  the 
hive  be  disturbed  by  rash  and  stupid  hands,  instead  of 
honey,  it  will  yield  us  bees.  Our  words  and  actions  to 
be  fair  must  be  timely.  A  gay  and  pleasant  sound  is  the 
whetting  of  the  scythe  in  the  mornings  of  June ;  and  yet 
what  is  more  lonesome  and  sad  than  the  sound  of  a 
whetstone  or  mower's  rifle  when  it  is  too  late  in  the  sea 
son  to  make  hay? 

But,  besides  genuine  prudence,  there  are  base 
and  spurious  prudences,  which  are  touched  upon 

slmrn  nVirn.sp.a  • 


in  sharp  phrases 


THE  ESSAYS.  193 


BASE    AND    SPURIOUS    PRUDENCE. 

"  The  world  is  filled  with  the  proverbs  and  acts  and 
winkings  of  a  base  prudence,  which  is  a  devotion  to 
matter,  as  if  we  possessed  no  other  faculties  than  the 
palate,  the  nose,  the  touch,  the  eye,  the  ear ;  a  prudence 
which  adores  the  rule  of  three ;  which  never  subscribes, 
which  never  gives,  which  rarely  tends ;  and  asks  but  one 
question :  '  Will  it  bake  bread  ? '  This  is  a  disease  like 
the  thickening  of  the  skin  until  the  vital  organs  are  de 
stroyed.  The  spurious  prudence,  making  the  senses  final, 
is  the  god  of  sots  and  cowards.  It  is  Nature's  joke,  and 
therefore  literature's.  The  true  prudence  limits  this 
sensual  by  admitting  the  knowledge  of  an  internal  and 
real  world.  This  recognition  once  made — the  order  of 
the  world  and  the  distribution  of  affairs  and  times  being 
studied  with  the  co-perception  of  their  subordinate  place, 
will  reward  any  degree  of  attention.  For  our  existence, 
thus  apparently  attached  in  Nature  to  the  sun  and  the 
returning  moon,  and  the  periods  which  they  mark — so 
susceptible  to  climate  and  to  country ;  so  alive  to  social 
good  and  evil ;  so  fond  of  splendor,  and  so  tender  to 
hunger  and  cold  and  debt — reads  all  its  primary  lessons 
out  of  these  books." 

PRUDENCE    AND    COURAGE. 

"So  in  regard  to  disagreeable  and  formidable  things, 
prudence  does  not  consist  in  evasion  or  in  flight,  but  in 
courage.  He  who  wishes  to  walk  in  the  most  peaceful 
paths  of  life  with  any  serenity  must  screw  himself  up  to 
resolution.  Let  him  front  the  object  of  his  worst  appre 
hension,  and  his  stoutness  will  commonly  make  his  fear 
groundless.  The  Latin  proverb  says  that  'in  battles  the 
13 


194  EMERSON. 

eye  is  first  overcome.1  Entire  self-possession  may  make 
a  battle  very  little  more  dangerous  to  life  than  a  match 
with  foils  or  at  football.  The  terrors  of  the  storm  are 
chiefly  confined  to  the  parlor  and  the  cabin.  The  drover, 
the  sailor,  buffets  it  all  day,  and  his  health  renews  itself 
at  as  vigorous  a  pulse  under  the  sleet  as  under  the  sun 
of  June. 

"  In  the  occurrence  of  unpleasant  things  among  neigh 
bors,  fear  comes  readily  to  the  heart,  and  magnifies  the 
consequence  of  the  other  party ;  but  it  is  a  bad  counselor. 
Every  man  is  actually  weak  and  apparently  strong.  To 
himself  he  appears  weak;  to  others  formidable.  You 
are  afraid  of  Grim ;  but  Grim  is  also  afraid  of  you.  You 
are  solicitous  of  the  good- will  of  the  meanest  person,  un 
easy  at  his  ill-will.  But  the  sturdiest  offender  of  your 
peace  and  of  the  neighborhood,  if  you  rip  up  his  claims, 
is  as  thin  and  timid  as  any ;  and  the  peace  of  society  is 
often  kept  because,  as  children  say,  '  one  is  afraid  and 
the  other  dares  not.'  Far  off,  men  swell,  bully,  and 
threaten  ;  bring  them  hand  to  hand,  and  they  are  a  feeble 
folk." 

PRUDENCE   AND   LOVE. 

"  It  is  a  proverb  that  '  Courtesy  costs  nothing ' ;  but 
calculation  might  come  to  value  love  for  its  profit.  Love 
is  not  a  hood  but  an  eye-water.  If  you  meet  a  sectary, 
or  a  hostile  partisan,  never  recognize  the  dividing  lines ; 
but  meet  on  what  common  ground  remains.  If  they  set 
out  to  contend,  Saint  Paul  will  lie  and  Saint  John  will 
hate.  What  low,  poor,  paltry,  hypocritical  people  an  ar 
gument  on  religion  will  make  of  the  pure  and  chosen 
souls !  They  will  shuffle  and  crow,  crook  and  hide ;  feign 
to  confess  here  only  that  they  may  brag  and  conquer 


THE  ESSAYS.  195 

there;-  and  not  a  thought  has  enriched  either  party,  and 
not  an  emotion  of  bravery,  modesty,  or  hope." 

PRUDENT   COMPLIANCES. 

"  So  neither  should  you  put  yourselves  in  a  false  po 
sition  with  your  contemporaries  by  indulging  in  a  vein 
of  hostility  and  bitterness.  Though  your  views  are  in 
straight  antagonism  with  theirs,  assume  an  identity  of 
sentiment,  assume  that  you  are  saying  precisely  what  all 
think,  and  in  the  flow  of  wit  and  love  roll  out  your  par 
adoxes  in  solid  column,  with  not  the  infirmity  of  a  doubt. 
So,  at  least,  you  get  an  adequate  deliverance.  Assume 
a  consent,  and  it  shall  presently  be  granted,  since  really 
and  underneath  their  external  diversities  all  men  are  the 
same." 

We  have  quoted  this  last  paragraph  only  that 
we  may  express  our  utter  dissent  from  it,  except 
under  the  very  widest  limitations.  Every  day  we 
are  confronted  with  sentiments  and  opinions  which 
we  can  not  honestly  assume  to  be  identical  with 
our  own.  Could  Elijah  honestly  tell  the  priests 
of  Baal  that  his  God  and  theirs  was  the  same  ? 
Could  Luther  blandly  assure  Eck  and  Tetzel  that 
he  agreed  exactly,  or  in  any  degree  even,  with 
them  in  the  matter  of  indulgences  ?  Could  Mil 
ton  say  to  Salmasius  that  both  of  them  were  of 
one  mind  in  regard  to  the  great  act  of  judgment 
executed  by  the  people  of  England  upon  Charles 
the  First  ?  Could  Emerson  and  Brigham  Young 
— assuming  that  both  were  honest  and  sincere  in 
their  opinions — honestly  and  sincerely  assure  each 


196  EMERSON. 

other  that  there  was  no  difference  between  them  ? 
Should  I,  who  abhor  assassination,  assure  a  Nihil 
ist  that  my  views  respecting  the  slaying  of  the 
Czar  of  Russia  differed  in  nowise  from  his  own  ? 
It  may  be,  and  often  is,  a  matter  of  the  highest 
and  best  wisdom  to  refrain  from  expressing  one's 
sentiments,  for  there  is  a  time  to  be  silent  and  a 
time  to  speak.  One  is  not  bound  of  necessity  to 
assail  the  dogma  of  the  Real  Presence  when  stand 
ing  under  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  or  to  denounce 
Mohammed  as  a  false  prophet  before  the  portals 
of  the  temple  at  Mecca.  But,  if  a  man  will  or 
must  speak  at  all,  only  the  basest  and  most  un 
worthy  prudence  will  sanction  his  speaking  other 
than  the  truth.  There  are  times  and  emergen 
cies  when  the  best  and  highest  prudence  must 
give  way  to  something  higher  and  better  ;  times 
when  this  half  virtue  would  be  a  whole  crime.  It 
was  imprudent  for  John  the  Baptist  to  denounce 
Herod  for  having  taken  to  himself  his  brother's 
wife  ;  for  Leonidas  with  his  three  hundred  to  hold 
the  pass  of  Thermopylae ;  for  Luther  to  nail  up 
his  eighty-five  theses  on  the  doors  of  the  Wittem- 
berg  Cathedral  and  to  go  to  Worms  ;  for  John 
Wesley  to  persist  in  open-air  preaching  ;  for  Gar 
rison  to  denounce  slavery  in  Boston.  Yet  all 
these  things  had  to  be  done,  and  were  done,  be 
cause  the  way  of  duty  lay  in  the  paths  of  impru 
dence.  But  in  the  closing  paragraph  of  this  essay 
Emerson  sums  up  in  brief  the  true  doctrine  of 


THE  ESSAYS.  197 

all  prudence  worthy  to  be  so  called,  in  ordinary 
cases  : 

THE    ULTIMATE    OF   PRUDENCE. 

"  Wisdom  will  never  let  us  stand  with  any  man  or 
men  on  unfriendly  terms.  "We  refuse  sympathy  and  in 
timacy  with  people,  as  if  we  waited  for  some  better  sym 
pathy  and  intimacy  to  come.  But  whence  and  when  ? 
To-morrow  will  be  as  to-day.  Life  wastes  itself  while 
we  are  preparing  to  live.  Let  us  sack  the  sweetness  of 
those  affections  and  consuetudes  that  grow  near  us. 
These  old  shoes  are  easy  to  the  feet.  Undoubtedly  we 
can  easily  pick  faults  in  our  company  ;  can  easily  whis 
per  names  prouder,  and  that  tickle  the  fancy  more. 
Every  man's  imagination  hath  its  friends,  and  life  would 
be  dearer  with  such  companions.  But,  if  you  can  not 
have  them  on  good,  mutual  terms,  you  can  not  have 
them.  If  not  the  Deity,  but  our  ambition,  hews  and 
shapes  the  new  relations,  then  virtue  escapes,  as  straw 
berries  lose  their  flavor  in  garden-beds. 

"  Thus,  truth,  courage,  love,  humility,  and  all  the  vir 
tues  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  prudence,  or  the 
art  of  securing  a  present  well  being.  I  do  not  know  if 
all  matter  will  be  found  to  be  made  of  one  element — as 
oxygen  and  hydrogen— at  last,  but  the  world  of  man 
ners  is  wrought  of  one  stuff;  and,  begin  where  we  will, 
we  are  pretty  sure,  in  a  short  space,  to  be  mumbling  our 
Ten  Commandments." 

The  essay  on  "Experience"  is  many-sided, 
treating  upon  many  topics  and  from  many  points 
of  view.  It  is  full  of  sharp  epigrammatic  sayings, 
not  unfrequently  flung  together  with  little  ap- 


]98  EMERSON. 

parent  law  of  logical  cohesion.     We  cite  a  single 
sarcastic  passage  : 

THE    WOBLD   TO    THE   SOHOLAE. 

"  The  mid- world  is  best.  Nature,  as  we  know  her,  is 
no  saint.  The  Lights  of  the  Church,  the  Ascetics,  Gen- 
toos,  and  Corn-eaters,  she  does  not  distinguish  by  any 
favor.  She  comes  eating  and  drinMng  and  sinning.  Her 
darlings — the  great,  the  strong,  the  beautiful — are  not 
the  children  of  our  law  ;  do  not  come  out  of  the  Sunday- 
schools,  nor  weigh  their  food,  nor  punctually  keep  the 
Commandments.  If  we  will  be  strong  with  her  strength, 
we  must  not  harbor  such  disconsolate  consciences,  bor 
rowed,  too,  from  the  consciences  of  other  nations.  We 
must  set  up  the  strong  present  tense  against  all  the  ru 
mors  of  wrath,  past  or  to  come.  So  many  things  are  un 
settled  which  it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  settle  ;  and, 
pending  their  settlement,  we  will  do  as  we  do.  While 
the  debate  goes  forward  on  the  equity  of  commerce,  and 
will  not  be  closed  for  a  century  or  two,  New  and  Old 
England  may  keep  shop.  Law  of  copyright  and  inter 
national  copyright  is  to  be  discussed ;  and,  in  the  in 
terim,  we  will  sell  our  books  for  the  most  we  can.  Ex 
pediency  of  literature,  lawfulness  of  writing  down  a 
thought  is  questioned ;  much  is  to  say  on  both  sides, 
and,  while  the  fight  waxes  hot,  thou,  dearest  scholar! 
stick  to  thy  foolish  task ;  add  a  line  every  hour,  and  be 
tween  whiles  add  a  line.  Eight  to  hold  land,  right  of 
property  is  disputed,  and  the  conventions  convene  ;  and, 
before  the  vote  is  taken,  dig  away  in  your  garden,  and 
spend  your  earnings  as  a  waif  or  a  godsend  to  all  serene 
and  beautiful  purposes.  Life  itself  is  a  bubble  and  a 
skepticism,  and  a  sleep  within  a  sleep.  Grant  it,  and  as 


THE  ESSAYS.  199 

much  more  as  thou  wilt ;  but  thou,  God's  darling !  heed 
thy  private  dream  ;  thou  wilt  not  be  missed  in  the  scorn 
ing  and  the  skepticism ;  there  are  enough  of  them ;  stay 
there  in  thy  closet,  and  toil  until  the  rest  are  agreed 
what  to  do  about  it.  Thy  sickness,  they  say,  and  thy 
puny  habit  require  that  thou  do  this  or  avoid  that ;  but 
know  that  thy  life  is  a  flitting  state,  a  tent  for  the  night ; 
and  do  thou,  sick  or  well,  finish  that  stint.  Thou  art 
sick,  but  shalt  not  be  worse,  and  the  universe,  which 
holds  thee  dear,  shall  be  the  better." 

This,  of  course  sarcastically  stated,  is  what 
experience  teaches  some  men.  Quite  different  is 
what  experience  had  taught  Emerson  at  three- 
and -forty,  when  this  essay  was  written.  Experi 
ence  had  taught  him  much,  but  only  a  mere 
fragment  of  what  he  wished  to  learn.  He  had 
read  only  the  preface  to  the  mighty  book  of  the 
universe.  He  thus,  half  mournfully,  half  lloping- 
ly,  sums  up  what  he  thought  he  had  learned  : 

NET   RESULT    OF    PRESENT   EXPERIENCE. 

"Illusion,  temperament,  succession,  surface,  sur 
prise,  reality,  subjectiveness — these  are  the  thread  on 
the  loom  of  time,  these  are  the  lords  of  life.  I  dare 
not  assume  to  give  them  order,  but  I  name  them  as  I  find 
them  in  my  way.  I  know  better  than  to  claim  any  com 
pleteness  for  my  picture.  I  am  a  fragment,  and  this  is  a 
fragment  of  me.  I  can  very  confidently  announce  one 
or  another  law,  which  throws  itself  into  relief  and  form ; 
but  I  am  too  young  yet,  by  some  ages,  to  compile  a  code. 
I  gossip  for  my  hour  concerning  the  eternal  politics.  I 


200  EMERSON. 

have  seen  many  fair  pictures  not  in  vain.  A  wonderful 
time  I  have  lived  in.  I  am  not  the  novice  I  was  fourteen 
years,  nor  yet  seven  years  ago.  Let  who  will  ask  where 
is  the  fruit  ?  I  find  a  private  fruit  sufficient.  This  is  a 
fruit — that  I  should  not  ask  for  a  rash  effect  for  my 
meditations,  counsels,  and  the  hivings  of  truths.  I 
should  feel  it  pitiful  to  demand  a  result  on  this  town  and 
county,  an  overt  effect  on  the  instant,  month,  and  year. 
The  effect  is  deep  and  secular  as  the  cause.  It  works  on 
periods  in  which  mortal  lifetime  is  lost.  I  am  and  I 
have;  but  I  do  not  get,  and,  when  I  fancied  I  had  gotten 
something,  I  found  that  I  did  not.  That  hankering  after 
an  overt  or  practical  effect  seems  to  me  an  apostasy.  In 
good  earnest,  I  am  willing  to  spare  myself  this  most  un 
necessary  deal  of  doing.  Life  wears  to  me  a  visionary 
face.  Hardest,  roughest  action  is  visionary  also.  It  is 
but  a  choice  between  soft  and  visionary  dreams.  People 
disparage  knowing  and  the  intellectual  life,  and  urge 
doing.  I  am  very  content  with  knowing,  if  only  I  could 
know.  That  is  an  august  entertainment,  and  would 
suffice  me  a  great  while.  To  know  a  little  would  be 
worth  the  expense  of  this  world. 

"  I  know  that  the  world  I  converse  with  in  the  city 
and  on  the  farms  is  not  the  world  I  think.  I  observe 
that  difference,  and  shall  observe  it.  One  day  I  shall 
know  the  value  and  law  of  this  discrepance.  But  I  have 
not  found  that  much  was  gained  by  manipular  attempts 
to  realize  the  world  of  thought.  Many  eager  persons 
make  an  experiment  this  way,  and  make  themselves 
ridiculous.  Worse,  I  observe  that  in  the  history  of  man 
kind  there  is  not  a  solitary  example  of  success — taking 
their  own  tests  of  success.  I  say  this  polemically,  or  in 
reply  to  the  inquiry,  'Why  not  realize  your  world? '  " 


THE  ESSAYS.  201 

This  reads  very  differently  from  much,  that 
we  have  cited,  and  much  more  that  we  have  not 
cited,  from  Emerson,  insisting  upon  doing  as  well 
as,  and  even  more  than,  thinking.  But  let  that 
pass.  Both  views  are  the  genuine  expressions  of 
a  susceptible  mind  in  different  moods,  and  look 
ing  at  different  sides  of  the  same  thing.  The 
essay  concludes  in  a  strain  which,  in  a  measure, 
harmonizes  the  thoughts  of  both  moods  : 

FINAL    VIOTOEY. 

"  But  far  from  me  the  despair  which  prejudges  tlie 
law  by  a  paltry  empiricism,  since  there  never  was  a 
right  endeavor  but  it  succeeded.  Patience  and  patience, 
and  we  shall  win  at  last.  We  must  be  very  suspicious 
of  the  deceptions  of  the  element  of  time.  It  takes  a 
good  deal  of  time  to  eat,  or  to  sleep,  or  to  earn  a  hun 
dred  dollars,  and  a  very  little  time  to  entertain  a  hope 
which  becomes  the  light  of  our  life.  We  dress  our  gar 
den,  eat  our  dinners,  discuss  the  household  with  our 
wives,  and  these  things  make  no  impression — are  for 
gotten  next  week ;  but,  in  the  solitude  to  which  every 
man  is  always  returning,  he  has  a  sanity  and  revelation 
which,  in  his  passage  into  new  worlds,  he  will  carry  with 
him.  Never  mind  the  ridicule ;  never  mind  the  defeat ; 
up  again,  old  heart !  It  seems  to  say,  *  There  is  a  vic 
tory  yet  for  all  justice;  and  the  true  romance  which 
the  world  exists  to  realize  will  be  tbe  transformation 
of  genius  into  practical  power.' " 

The  motto  which  is  prefixed  to  the  essay  upon 
Experience  is  both  text  and  peroration  for  the 


202  EMERSON. 


discourse.  It  is  also,  perhaps,  the  most  Emer 
sonian  of  all  of  Emerson's  poems,  for  its  pregnant 
thought,  rugged  rhythm,  and  swift  changes  : 

THE   LOKD8    OF    LIFE. 

"  The  Lords  of  Life,  the  Lords  of  Life : 

I  saw  them  pass 
In  their  own  guise, 

Like  and  unlike, 

Portly  and  grim, 
Use  and  surprise, 

Surface  and  dream. 
Succession  swift,  and  spectral  wrong, 
Temperament  without  a  tongue, 
And  the  inventor  of  the  game, 
Omnipresent  without  name. 
Some  to  see,  some  to  be  guessed, 
They  marched  from  east  to  west. 
Little  man,  least  of  all, 
Among  the  legs  of  his  guardians  tall, 
Walked  about  with  puzzled  look  ; 
Him  by  the  hand  kind  Nature  took : 
Dearest  Nature,  strong  and  mild, 
Whispered,  '  Darling,  never  mind ! 
To-morrow  they  will  wear  another  face : 
The  founder  thou !  these  are  thy  race.'  " 

The  essay  on  "Nature"  is  well  worthy  of 
comparison  with  Emerson's  book  of  the  same 
title,  written  some  eight  or  ten  years  before. 
They  are  alike  and  unlike.  But  the  exuberance 
of  the  style  of  the  book  is  toned  down  in  the 


THE  ESSAYS.  203 

essay  to  the  extremest  of  condensation ;  and  the 
yery  essence  of  the  condensation  is  again  distilled 
down  into  the  ten  lines  of  verse  which  form  the 
motto : 

THE   MYSTERY    OF    NATTTRE. 

"  The  rounded  world  is  fair  to  see, 
Nine  times  molded  in  mystery  : 
Though  baffled  seers  cannot  impart, 
The  secret  of  its  laboring  heart, 
Throb  thine  with  Nature's  throbbing  breast, 
And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 
Spirit  that  lurks  each  form  within 
Beckons  to  the  spirit  of  its  king, 
Self -kindled  every  atom  glows, 
And  hints  the  future  which  it  owes." 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  essays,  a  new  phase 
in  the  intellectual  character  of  Emerson  is  ap 
parent  ;  or,  at  least,  his  thoughts  were  turned  into 
new  channels.  We  read  little  upon  the  lofty 
topics  of  abstract  speculation  with  which  he  had 
been  occupied  ;  little  of  questionings  whether  Na 
ture  was  a  reality  or  only  an  appearance.  Using 
the  word  in  a  noble  sense,  and  not  an  ignoble  one, 
he  seems  to  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
"mid- world,"  in  which  our  human  life  is  passed 
— the  only  one  respecting  which  man  has  any 
clear  knowledge  from  within  or  from  without— 
this  world,  with  its  institutions,  its  laws,  its  cus 
toms,  its  forms,  its  habits,  its  aims,  failures,  and 
successes,  its  great  men,  and  even  those  who  were 


204  EMERSON. 

not  very  great — was  quite  worth  the  attention  of 
the  thinker,  and  affords  topics  worthy  to  be  dis 
coursed  of  by  him.  In  default  of  any  other  spe 
cial  profession,  he  had  entered  successfully  upon 
the  pursuit  of  the  lecturer.  The  New  England 
"lyceum"  system  was  introduced  into  Great 
Britain,  and  in  1847  Emerson  made  his  second 
visit  to  England — this  time  as  a  public  lecturer. 
From  this  visit  resulted  the  writing  of  "  English 
Traits,"  which,  although  not  published  as  a  book 
until  1856,  was  really  the  production  of  several 
years  before.  In  the  interval  (in  1850)  he  had 
published  a  volume  entitled,  "  Representative 
Men."  The  "English  Traits"  was  really  the 
earlier  work  ;  it  will  be  first  considered. 


IX. 

ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

EMERSON  describes  the  very  practical  motives 
which  induced  him  to  make  this  visit.  In  Lan 
cashire  and  Yorkshire  the  "  Mechanics'  Insti 
tutes"  had  formed  a  "Union,"  which  embraced 
twenty  or  thirty  towns,  and  presently  extended 
into  the  Middle  Counties,  and  northward  into 
Scotland.  "  I  was  invited,"  he  said,  "on  liberal 
terms,  to  read  a  series  of  lectures  before  them  all. 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  205 

The  remuneration,  was  equivalent  to  the  fees  at 
that  time  paid  in  this  country  for  the  like  services. 
At  all  events,  it  was  sufficient  to  cover  my  travel 
ing  expenses ;  and  the  proposal  offered  an  excel 
lent  opportunity  of  seeing  the  interior  of  England 
and  Scotland,  by  means  of  a  home  and  a  commit 
tee  of  intelligent  friends  awaiting  me  in  every 
town."  The  invitation  was  not  at  once  accepted  ; 
but,  continues  Emerson,  "  the  invitation  was  re 
peated  and  pressed  at  a  moment  of  more  leisure,  5 
and  when  I  was  a  little  spent  by  some  unusual 
studies.  I  wanted  a  change  and  tonic,  and  Eng 
land  was  proposed  to  me.  Besides,  there  were  at 
least  the  dread  attraction  and  salutary  influences 
of  the  sea.  I  did  not  go  very  willingly.  I  am 
not  a  good  traveler,  nor  have  I  found  that  long 
journeys  yield  a  fair  share  of  reasonable  hours." 
However,  the  resolve  was  made,  and  in  the 
autumn  of  1847  he  sailed  from  Boston  in  a 
packet-ship,  thus  entering  upon  what  he  had  not 
long  before  stigmatized  as  the  "  fool's  paradise  " 
of  traveling,  which  was  certainly  no  such  thing 
to  him,  but  was,  on  the  contrary,  productive  of 
great  and  lasting  benefits. 

With  the  exception  of  the  chapter  in  which 
the  visit  of  Emerson  to  Stonehenge  in  company 
with  Carlyle  has  already  been  quoted,  there 
is  in  the  "English  Traits"  hardly  a  bit  of  any 
special  information  as  to  individuals  or  places. 
It  is  in  no  sense  a  book  of  travel  or  incident,  but 


206  EMERSON. 

an  attempt  to  seize  and  emphasize  the  character 
istics  of  the  English  people  and  mind.  The  land 
and  the  people  who  inhabit  it  are  not  treated  from 
any  ideal  point  of  view.  It  is  nowhere  intimated 
that  either  of  them  may  be  a  mere  appearance ; 
but  they  are  throughout  represented  as  actual 
existences,  quite  worthy  of  being  studied  even 
though  the  study  took  a  hundred  years.  Only  a 
few  pages  can  be  devoted  to  some  of  the  topics 
^treated  of. 

PHYSICAL   ENGLAND. 

"  As  soon  as  you  enter  England,  which,  with  Wales, 
is  no  larger  than  the  State  of  Georgia,  this  little  land 
stretches  by  an  illusion  to  the  dimensions  of  an  empire. 
The  innumerable  details,  the  crowded  succession  of 
towns,  cities,  cathedrals,  castles,  and  great  and  decorated 
estates,  the  number  and  power  of  the  guilds,  the  military 
strength  and  splendor,  the  multitude  of  rich  and  remark 
able  people,  the  servants  and  the  equipages — all  these 
catching  the  eye,  and  never  allowing  it  to  pause,  hide  all 
boundaries  by  the  impression  of  magnitude  and  endless 
wealth.  It  is  stuffed  full,  in  all  corners,  with  towns, 
towers,  churches,  villas,  palaces,  hospitals,  and  charity 
houses.  In  the  history  of  art  it  is  a  long  way  from  a 
cromlech  to  York  Minster,  yet  all  the  intermediate  steps 
may  still  be  traced  in  this  all-preserving  island. 

"  The  territory  has  a  singular  perfection.  •  The  cli 
mate  is  warmer  by  many  degrees  than  it  is  entitled  to 
by  latitude.  Neither  hot  nor  cold,  there  is  no  hour  in 
the  whole  year  when  one  cannot  work.  Here  is  no  win 
ter,  but  such  days  as  we  have  in  Massachusetts  in  No- 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  207 

vember  —  a  temperature  which  makes  no  exhausting 
demands  on  human  strength,  but  allows  the  attainment 
of  the  largest  stature.  Charles  the  Second  said:  'It 
invites  men  abroad  more  days  in  the  year  and  more 
hours  in  the  day  than  another  country.'  Then  England 
has  all  the  materials  of  a  working  country  except  wood. 
The  constant  rain — a  rain  with  every  tide  in  some  parts 
of  the  island — keeps  its  multitude  of  rivers  full,  and 
brings  agricultural  production  up  to  the  highest  point. 
It  has  plenty  of  water,  of  stone,  of  potter's  clay,  of  coal, 
of  salt,  and  of  iron.  The  land  naturally  abounds  with 
game,  and  the  shores  are  enlivened  by  water-birds. 
The  rivers  and  the  surrounding  sea  spawn  with  fish.  In 
the  northern  lochs  the  herring  are  in  innumerable  shoals. 
At  one  season  the  country  people  say,  '  The  lakes  con 
tain  one  part  water  and  two  parts  fish.' 

"Factitious  climate,  factitious  position.  England 
resembles  a  ship  in  its  shape;  and,  if  it  were  one,  its 
best  admiral  could  not  have  worked  it  or  anchored  it 
in  a  more  judicious  or  effective  position.  England  is 
anchored  at  the  side  of  Europe,  and  right  in  the  heart  of 
the  modern  world.  The  sea,  which,  according  to  Virgil's 
famous  line,  divided  the  poor  Britons  utterly  from  the 
world,  proved  to  be  the  ring  of  marriage  with  all  nations. 
On  a  fortunate  day,  a  wave  of  the  German  Ocean  burst 
the  old  isthmus  which  joined  Kent  and  Cornwall  to 
France,  and  gave  to  this  fragment  of  Europe  its  impreg 
nable  sea-wall,  cutting  off  an  island  eight  hundred  miles  in 
length,  with  an  irregular  breadth  reaching  to  three  hun 
dred  miles ;  a  territory  large  enough  for  independence, 
so  near  that  it  can  see  the  harvests  of  the  continent,  and 
so  far  that  who  would  cross  the  strait  must  be  a  mariner, 
ready  for  tempests." 


208  EMERSON. 


COMMERCIAL   ADVANTAGES. 

"As  America,  Europe,  and  Asia  lie,  these  Britons 
have  precisely  the  best  commercial  position  on  the  whole 
planet,  and  are  sure  of  a  market  for  all  the  goods  they 
can  manufacture.  And  to  make  these  advantages  avail, 
the  river  Thames  must  dig  its  spacious  outlet  to  the  sea 
from  the  heart  of  the  kingdom,  giving  road  and  landing 
to  innumerable  ships,  and  all  conveniency  to  trade. 
When  James  the  First  declared  his  purpose  of  punishing 
London  by  removing  his  court,  the  Lord  Mayor  replied 
that,  '  in  removing  his  royal  presence  from  his  lieges, 
they  hoped  he  would  leave  them  the  Thames.' " 

This  and  much  more  of  like  import  was  writ 
ten  a  generation  ago.  Since  then,  by  availing 
themselves  of  natural  advantages,  supplementing 
these  by  artificial  means,  the  relative  superiority 
of  England  to  the  rest  of  the  world  has  been 
largely  diminished,  not  to  say  overcome.  We 
judge  that,  within  a  time  not  very  far  remote, 
New  York,  and  the  other  cities  which  line  the 
banks  of  its  harbor  and  bay,  will  come  to  be  the 
center  and  entrepot  of  the  world's  busy  life.  But, 
in  any  case,  it  is  not  so  much  the  physical  struc 
ture  and  position  of  England  which  have  made 
that  country  what  it  is,  as  the  race  of  men  who 
have  held  and  now  hold  it.  On  this  general  mat 
ter  of  race,  Emerson  has  much  to  say.  We  ex 
tract  a  few  sentences,  omitting  the  connecting 
passages  which  bind  the  whole  together  : 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  209 

THE   ENGLISH   EAOE. 

"  Men  gladly  hear  of  the  power  of  '  blood '  or  '  race.7 
Everybody  likes  to  know  that  his  advantages  can  not  be 
attributed  to  air,  soil,  sea ;  or  to  local  wealth,  as  mines 
and  quarries  ;  nor  to  laws  and  traditions ;  nor  to  fortune 
— but  to  superior  brain,  as  it  makes  the  praise  more  per 
sonal  to  him.  "We  anticipate  in  the  doctrine  of  Kace 
something  like  that  law  of  physiology  that,  wherever 
bone,  muscle,  or  essential  organ  is  found  in  one  healthy 
individual,  the  same  part  or  organ  may  be  found,  in  or 
near  the  same  place,  in  its  congener ;  and  we  may  look 
to  find  in  the  son  every  mental  and  moral  property  that 
existed  in  the  ancestor.  Then  first  we  care  to  examine 
the  pedigree  and  copy  heedf ully  the  training— what  food 
they  ate,  what  nursing,  school,  and  exercise  they  had — 
which  resulted  in  this  mother-wit,  delicacy  of  thought, 
and  robust  wisdom.  How  came  such  men  as  King  Alfred 
and  Roger  Bacon,  William  of  Wykeham,  Walter  Raleigh, 
Philip  Sidney,  Isaac  Newton,  William  Shakespeare, 
George  Chapman,  Francis  Bacon,  George  Herbert,  Hen 
ry  Vane,  to  exist  here  ?  What  made  these  delicate  na 
tures?  Was  it  the  air?  Was  it  the  sea?  Was  it  the 
parentage  ?  For  it  is  certain  that  these  men  are  samples 
of  their  contemporaries." 

Eace — that  is.  in  its  simplest  form  of  expres 
sion,  the  descent  of  physical  and  moral  qualities 
from  father  to  son— is  an  important  factor  in  the 
problems  of  human  life  and  action.  "Race," 
says  Emerson,  "avails  much,  if  that  be  true 
which  is  alleged,  that  all  Celts  are  Catholics  and 
all  Saxons  are  Protestants,  that  Celts  love  unity 
14 


210  EMERSON. 

of  power  and  Saxons  the  representative  principle. 
Eace  is  a  controlling  influence  with  the  Jew,  who 
for  two  millenniums,  under  every  climate,  has  pre 
served  the  same  character  and  employments.  It 
is  race,  is  it  not  ?  that  puts  the  hundred  millions 
of  India  under  the  dominion  of  a  remote  island 
in  the  north  of  Europe."  But,  in  the  strict  eth 
nological  sense  of  the  word,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  an  English  race.  In  its  very  broadest  accepta 
tion,  it  is  a  compound  people,  made  up  in  quite 
modern  times  from  an  intermixture  of  races 
proper.  Emerson  says  : 

MIXTUKES  IN  THE  ENGLISH  RACE. 

"The  sources  from  which  tradition  derives  their 
stock  are  three.  First,  they  are  of  the  oldest  blood  in 
the  world— the  Celts  or  Sidonians,  of  whose  beginning 
there  is  no  memory,  and  their  end  is  likely  to  be  still 
more  remote  in  the  future,  for  they  have  endurance  and 
productiveness.  They  planted  Britain,  and  gave  to  the 
seas  and  mountains  names  which  are  poems  and  imitate 
the  pure  voices  of  Nature.  They  had  no  violent  feudal 
tenure,  but  the  husbandman  owned  the  land.  They  had 
an  alphabet,  astronomy,  priestly  culture,  and  a  sublime 
creed.  They  made  the  best  popular  literature  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  in  the  songs  of  Merlin,  and  the  tender  and 
delicious  mythology  of  Arthur.  But  the  English  come 
mainly  from  the  Germans,  whom  the  Romans  found  it 
hard  to  conquer — say,  impossible  to  conquer,  when  one 
remembers  the  long  sequel ;  a  people  about  whom,  in 
the  old  empire,  the  rumor  ran,  '  there  was  never  any 
that  meddled  with  them  that  repented  it  not.'  " 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  211 

Of  the  Norsemen,  who,  under  the  name  of 
Danes  and  the  like,  have  played  a  considerable 
part  in  the  building  up  of  the  English  race,  Em 
erson  has  a  good  word  or  two  to  say,  though  with 
much  by  way  of  abatement : 


THE    NORSEMEN. 

"  The  Norsemen  are  excellent  persons  in  the  main, 
with  good  sense,  steadiness,  wise  speech,  and  prompt 
action ;  but  they  have  a  singular  turn  for  homicide ; 
their  chief  end  of  man  is  to  murder  or  to  be  murdered. 
Oars,  scythes,  harpoons,  crowbars,  peat-knives,  and  hay 
forks  are  valued  by  them  all  the  more  for  their  charming 
aptitude  for  assassination.  Never  was  poor  gentleman 
so  surfeited  with  life,  so  furious  to  get  rid  of  it,  as  the 
Northman.  It  was  a  proverb  of  ill  condition  to  die  the 
death  of  old  age. 

"  It  took  many  generations  to  trim,  comb,  and  per 
fume  the  first  boat-load  of  Norse  pirates  into  Royal 
Highnesses  and  most  noble  Knights  of  the  Garter, 
but  every  sparkle  of  ornament  dates  back  to  the 
Norse  boat.  There  will  be  time  enough  to  mellow 
this  strength  into  civility  and  religion.  The  children 
of  the  blind  see,  the  children  of  felons  have  a  healthy 
conscience ;  many  a  mean,  dastardly  boy  is  at  the  age 
of  puberty  transformed  into  a  serious  and  generous 
youth." 

But  for  the  Normans,  that  is,  the  Northmen 
who  had  settled  themselves  in  France,  Emerson 
has  a  supreme  aversion.  He  says  : 


EMERSON. 


THE   NORMANS. 

"  The  Normans  came  out  of  France  into  England 
worse  men  than  they  went  into  it  one  hundred  and  sixty 
years  before.  They  had  lost  their  own  language,  and 
learned  the  Komance  or  barbarous  Latin  of  the  Gauls, 
and  had  acquired,  with  the  language,  all  the  vices  it  had 
names  for.  The  Conquest  has  obtained  in  the  chronicles 
the  name  of  the  '  memory  of  sorrow.'  Twenty  thousand 
thieves  landed  at  Hastings.  These  founders  of  the  House 
of  Lords  were  greedy  and  ferocious  dragoons,  sons  of 
greedy  and  ferocious  pirates.  They  were  all  alike.  They 
took  everything  they  could  carry  ;  they  burned,  harried, 
violated,  tortured,  and  killed,  until  everything  English 
was  brought  to  the  verge  of  ruin.  Such,  however,  is  the 
illusion  of  antiquity  and  wealth,  that  decent  and  digni 
fied  men  now  existing  boast  their  descent  from  these 
filthy  thieves,  who  showed  a  far  juster  conviction  of 
their  own  merits  by  assuming  for  types  the  swine,  goat, 
jackal,  leopard,  wolf,  and  snake,  which  they  severally 
resembled." 

Mr.  Emerson  generalizes  at  first  pretty  largely 
concern!  g  the  elements  which  enter  into  the 
composition  of  the  English  people,  but  he  soon 
limits  the  subject  to  a  small  circle.  He  says  : 
"What  we  think  of  when  we  talk  of  'English 
Traits  '  really  narrows  itself  to  a  small  district. 
It  excludes  Ireland  and  Scotland  and  Wales,  and 
reduces  itself  at  last  to  London,  that  is,  to  those 
who  come  and  go  thither.  The  portraits  that 
hang  on  the  walls  of  the  Academy  Exhibition  at 
London,  the  figures  in  '  Punch's  '  drawings  of  the 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  213 

public  men  or  of  the  club-houses,  the  prints  in  the 
shop-windows,  are  distinctive  English,  and  not 
American,  nor  Scotch,  nor  Irish  ;  but  it  is  a  very 
restricted  nationality.  As  you  go  north  into  the 
manufacturing  and  agricultural  districts,  and  to 
the  population  that  never  travels,  as  you  go  into 
Yorkshire,  as  you  enter  Scotland,  the  world's 
Englishman  is  no  longer  found.  In  Scotland 
there  is  a  rapid  loss  of  all  grandeur  of  mien  and 
manners  ;  a  provincial  eagerness  and  acuteness 
appear ;  the  poverty  of  the  country  makes  itself 
remarked,  and  a  coarseness  of  manners.  In  Ire 
land  are  the  same  soil  and  climate  as  in  England, 
but  less  food,  no  right  relation  to  the  land,  po 
litical  dependence,  small  tenantry,  and  an  infe 
rior  or  misplaced  race."  One  might  thus  almost 
say  that  the  title  of  the  book  should  have  been 
"London  Traits,"  instead  of  "English  Traits." 
Bearing  this  in  mind,  we  shall  present  a  few  of 
these  traits  as  they  presented  themselves  to  the 
eye  and  fancy  of  Emerson  : 

BODILY    TKAITS    OF    THE    ENGLISH. 

"  The  English  at  the  present  day  have  great  vigor  of 
body  and  endurance.  Other  countrymen  look  slight  and 
undersized  beside  them,  and  invalids.  They  are  bigger 
men  than  the  Americans.  I  suppose  a  hundred  English, 
taken  at  random  out  of  the  street,  would  weigh  a  fourth 
more  than  so  many  Americans.  Yet  I  am  told  the 
skeleton  is  not  larger.  They  are  round,  ruddy,  and 
handsome;  at  least  the  whole  bust  is  well  formed,  and 


214  EMERSON. 

there  is  a  tendency  to  stout  and  powerful  frames.  It  ia 
the  fault  of  their  forms  that  they  grow  stocky,  and  the 
women  have  that  disadvantage— few  tall,  slender  figures 
of  flowing  shape,  but  stunted  and  thickset  persons.  The 
French  say  that  the  Englishwomen  have  two  left  hands. 
But  in  all  ages  they-  are  a  handsome  race.  They  have  a 
vigorous  health,  and  last  well  into  middle  and  old  age. 
The  old  men  are  as  red  as  roses,  and  still  handsome.  A 
clear  skin,  a  peach-bloom  complexion,  and  good  teeth 
are  found  all  over  the  island." 

ENGLISH   LOVE   OF    UTILITY. 

"They  have  a  supreme  eye  to  facts;  their  mind  is 
not  dazzled  by  its  own  m«ans,  but  locked  and  bolted  to 
results.  Their  practical  vision  is  spacious,  and  they  can 
hold  many  threads  without  entangling  them.  Their 
self-respect,  their  faith  in  causation,  and  their  realistic 
logic,  or  coupling  of  means  to  ends,  have  given  them  the 
leadership  of  the  modern  world.  The  bias  of  the  nation 
is  a  passion  for  utility.  They  love  the  lever,  the  screw 
and  pulley,  the  Flanders  draught-horse,  the  waterfall, 
windmills,  tide-mills ;  the  sea  and  the  wind  to  bear  their 
freight  ships.  More  than  the  diamond  they  prize  that 
dull  pebble,  which  is  wiser  than  a  man,  and  whose  axis 
is  parallel  to  the  axis  of  the  world." 

ARTIFICIALITY    OF    ENGLISH!   INSTITUTIONS. 

"The  nearer  we  look,  the  more  artificial  is  their 
social  system.  Their  law  is  a  network  of  fictions.  Their 
property  a  scrip  or  certificate  of  right  to  interest  on 
money  which  no  man  ever  saw.  Their  social  classes 
are  made  by  statute.  Their  ratios  of  power  are  histori 
cal  and  legal.  The  last  Reform  Bill  took  away  political 


ENGLISH   TRAITS.  215 

power  from  a  mound,  a  ruin,  and  a  stone  wall,  while 
Birmingham  and  Manchester,  whose  mills  paid  for  the 
wars  of  Europe,  had  no  representative.  Purity  in  the 
elective  Parliament  is  secured  by  the  purchase  of  seats. 
Sir  Samuel  Komilly,  purest  of  English  patriots,  decided 
that  the  only  independent  mode  of  entering  Parliament 
was  to  buy  a  seat,  and  he  bought  Horsham.  Foreign 
power  is  kept  by  armed  colonies ;  power  at  home  by  a 
standing  army  of  police.  The  pauper  lives  better  than 
the  free  laborer ;  the  thief  better  than  the  pauper ;  and 
the  transported  felon  better  than  one  under  imprison 
ment.  The  crimes  are  factitious :  as  smuggling,  poach 
ing,  non-conformity,  heresy,  and  treason.  Better,  they 
say  in  England,  *  kill  a  man  than  a  hare.'  The  sover 
eignty  of  the  seas  is  maintained  by  the  impressment  of 
seamen.  Solvency  is  maintained  by  a  national  debt,  on 
the  principle,  'If  you  will  not  lend  me  money,  how 
can  I  pay  you? '  Their  system  of  education  is  factitious. 
The  universities  galvanize  dead  languages  into  a  sem 
blance  of  life.  Their  Church  is  artificial.  The  manners 
and  customs  of  society  are  artificial — made-up  men  with 
made-up  manners.  And  thus  the  whole  is  Birming- 
hamized,  and  we  have  a  nation  whose  existence  is  a  work 
of  art ;  a  cold,  barren,  almost  arctic  isle  being  made  the 
most  fruitful,  luxurious,  and  imperial  land  in  the  whole 
earth." 

It  will  be  seen  that  Mr.  Emerson  is  by  no 
means  fastidious  about  making  his  statements 
literally  harmonize  with  each  other.  Of  this 
"cold,  barren,  and  almost  arctic  isle"  he  had 
said,  only  a  few  pages  before  :  "  Neither  hot  nor 
cold,  there  is  no  hour  in  the  whole  year  in  which 


216  EMERSON. 

man  can  not  work ;  no  winter  but  such  days  as 
we  have  in  November ;  while  the  constant  rain 
brings  agricultural  production  up  to  the  highest 
point."  In  English  manners  Emerson  finds 
pluck  the  most  characteristic  feature.  He  says  : 

ENGLISH   PLUCK. 

"  I  find  the  Englishman  to  be  him  of  all  men  who 
.stands  firmest  in  his  shoes.  They  have  in  themselves 
what  they  value  in  their  horses — mettle  and  bottom. 
And  what  I  heard  first,  I  heard  last;  and  the  one  thing 
which  the  English  value  is  pluck.  The  word  is  not 
beautiful,  but  on.  the  quality  they  signify  by  it  the  nation 
is  unanimous.  The  cabmen  have  it ;  the  merchants  have 
it ;  the  bishops  have  it ;  the  women  have  it.  The  '  Times ' 
newspaper,  they  say,  'is  the  pluckiest  thing  in  England.' 
They  require  you  to  be  of  your  own  opinion ;  and  they 
hate  the  practical  cowards  who  can  not  in  affairs  answer 
directly,  Yes  or  No.  They  dare  to  displease;  nay,  will 
let  you  break  all  the  commandments,  if  you  do  it 
natively  and  with  spirit.  You  must  be  somebody ;  then 
you  may  do  this  or  that  as  you  will." 

English  manners  are  set  forth  under  a  variety 
of  phases,  not  always  perfectly  congruous.  The 
people,  we  are  told  in  one  place,  "are  positive, 
methodical,  cleanly,  and  formal ;  loving  routine 
and  conventional  ways ;  loving  truth  and  relig 
ion,  to  be  sure,  but  inexorable  on  all  points  of 
form."  On  the  very  next  page  we  are  assured 
that  "each  man  walks,  eats,  drinks,  and  shaves; 
dresses,  gesticulates,  and  in  every  manner  acts 


ENGLISH   TRAITS.  217 

and  suffers  without  reference  to  the  bystanders. 
Every  man  in  this  polished  country  consults  only 
his  own  convenience,  as  much  as  a  solitary  pioneer 
in  Wisconsin.  I  know  not  where  any  personal 
eccentricity  is  so  freely  allowed,  and  no  man 
gives  himself  any  concern  about  it.  An  English 
man  walks  in  the  pouring  rain,  swinging  his 
closed  umbrella  like  a  walking-stick ;  wears  a 
wig,  or  a  shawl,  or  a  saddle,  or  stands  on  his 
head,  and  no  remark  is  made."  Mr.  Emerson's 
typical  Englishman,  putting  everything  together, 
is,  to  our  apprehension,  a  rude,  polished,  rough- 
and-ready,  conventional  person ;  doing  just  what 
he  pleases,  and  letting  everybody  also  do  what 
he  pleases,  but  inexorable  upon  points  of  form ; 
afraid  of  nobody,  but  in  mortal  terror  of  Mrs. 
Grundy.  Just  as  the  climate  of  this  almost  arctic 
island  is  neither  cold  nor  hot,  has  no  winter,  and 
its  barren  soil  is  highly  fertile,  and  while  there 
is  no  day  in  the  year  in  which  the  Englishman 
may  not  live  out  of  doors ;  yet  "  the  harsh  and 
wet  climate  in  which  he  is  born  keeps  him  in 
doors  whenever  he  is  at  rest."  Quite  the  most 
charming  thing  which  Mr.  Emerson  sees  in  Eng 
lish  life  is  its  domesticity.  He  says  : 

ENGLISH   DOMESTICITY. 

"  Born  in  a  harsh  and  wet  climate,  which  keeps  him 
indoors  whenever  he  is  at  rest,  and  being  of  an  affection 
ate  and  loyal  temper,  he  dearly  loves  his  house.  If  he  is 


218  EMERSON. 

rich,  he  buys  a  demesne  and  builds  a  hall ;  if  he  is  in 
middle  condition,  he  spares  no  expense  on  his  house. 
An  English  family  consists  of  a  very  few  persons,  who 
from  youth  to  age  are  found  revolving  within  a  few 
feet  of  each  other,  as  if  tied  by  some  tie  tense  as  that 
cartilage  which  we  have  seen  attaching  the  two  Siamese. 
England  produces,  under  favorable  conditions  of  ease 
and  culture,  the  finest  women  in  the  world.  And  as  the 
men  are  affectionate  and  true-hearted,  the  women  inspire 
and  refine  them.  Nothing  can  be  more  delicate  without 
being  fantastical,  nothing  more  firm  and  based  in  nature 
and  sentiment,  than  the  courtship  and  mutual  carriage 
of  the  sexes." 

All  this  is  very  charming.  We  have  no  doubt 
that  Mr.  Emerson  was  brought  much  into  the 
intimacy  of  such  homes  as  he  has  described  ;  and 
that  he  saw  them  in  their  very  best  aspects  ;  for, 
as  he  tells  us,  he  found  a  committee  of  intelligent 
friends  awaiting  him  in  every  town  which  he  vis 
ited  during  his  lecturing  tour.  But,  if  we  can 
put  faith  in  what  we  read  in  history,  this  delight 
ful  domesticity  is  quite  as  rare  in  England  as  else 
where.  Predominant  among  the  traits  of  the  Eng 
lish  people,  Emerson  finds  that  of  truthfulness  : 

ENGLISH   TRUTHFULNESS. 

"  Their  practical  power  rests  on  their  national  sincer 
ity.  Veracity  derives  from  instinct,  and  marks  superi 
ority  in  organization.  Nature  has  endowed  some  men 
with  cunning  as  a  compensation  for  strength  withheld ; 
but  it  has  provoked  the  malice  of  all  others,  as  if  aven- 


ENGLISH   TRAITS.  219 

gers  of  public  wrong.  In  the  nobler  kinds,  where  strength 
could  be  afforded,  her  races  are  loyal  to  truth.  Beasts, 
that  make  no  truce  with  man,  do  not  break  faith  with 
each  other.  English  veracity  seems  to  rest  on  a  sounder 
animal  structure,  as  if  they  could  afford  it.  They  are 
blunt  in  saying  what  they  think,  sparing  of  promises; 
and  they  require  plain-dealing  of  others.  They  confide 
in  each  other.  English  believes  in  English.  The  French 
feel  the  superiority  of  this  probity.  Madame  de  Stael  says 
that  the  English  irritated  Napoleon  mainly  because  they 
had  found  out  how  to  unite  success  with  honesty.  At 
St.  George's  festival  in  Montreal,  where  I  happened  to 
be  a  guest,  I  observed  that  the  chairman  complimented 
his  compatriots  by  saying  that  'they  confided  that, 
wherever  they  met  an  Englishman,  they  found  a  man 
who  would  speak  the  truth.'  The  English,  of  all  classes, 
value  themselves  on  this  trait,  as  distinguishing  them 
from  the  French,  who,  in  the  popular  estimation,  are 
more  polite  than  true.  An  Englishman  understates, 
avoids  the  superlative,  checks  himself  in  compliments, 
alleging  that  in  the  French  language  one  can  not  speak 
without  lying." 

Now,  as  Emerson  knows  next  to  nothing  of 
the  French  people,  and  has  seen  only  the  better 
sort  of  the  English,  and  that  too  in  their  best  as 
pects,  his  broad  generalizations  must  be  accepted 
with  very  much  of  allowance.  It  is  not  a  little 
singular  that  in  his  "  Eepresentative  Men,"  he 
selects  the  French  Montaigne  as  the  exemplar  of 
straightforward  truthfulness.  "  Montaigne,"  he 
says,  "is  the  frankest  and  honestest  of  all  wri 
ters."  Mr.  Frothingham  says  :  "  Montaigne  has 


220  EMERSON. 

been  a  favorite  author  with  Emerson  on  account 
of  his  sincerity."  A  few  more  miscellaneous  ex 
cerpts  must  be  made  from  these  "English  Traits." 

ENGLISH    GRAVITY. 

"The  English  race  are  reputed  morose.  I  do  not 
know  that  they  have  sadder  brows  than  their  neighbors 
of  northern  climates.  They  are  sad  by  comparison  with 
the  singing  and  dancing  nations ;  not  sadder,  but  slow 
and  staid,  as  finding  their  joys  at  home.  They  too  be 
lieve  that  where  there  is  no  enjoyment  of  life,  there  can 
be  no  vigor  and  art  in  speech  or  thought;  that  your 
merry  heart  goes  all  the  way,  your  sad  one  tires  in  a 
mile.  This  trait  of  gloom  has  been  fixed  on  them  by 
French  travelers,  who,  from  Froissart,  Voltaire,  Le  Sage, 
Mirabeau,  down  to  the  lively  journalists  of  the  feuille- 
tom,  have  spent  their  wit  on  the  solemnity  of  their  neigh 
bors.  The  French  say,  *  Gay  cpnversation  is  unknown  in 
their  island ;  the  Englishman  finds  no  relief  from  reflec 
tion  except  in  reflection ;  when  he  wishes  for  amusement, 
he  goes  to  work ;  his  hilarity  is  like  an  attack  of  fever.' 

"  I  suppose  their  gravity  of  demeanor  and  their  few 
words  have  obtained  this  reputation.  As  compared  with 
the  Americans,  I  think  them  cheerful  and  contented. 
Young  people  in  America  are  much  more  prone  to  mel 
ancholy.  The  English  have  a  mild  aspect  and  a  ring 
ing,  cheerful  voice.  They  are  large-natured,  and  not  so 
easily  amused  as  the  southerners,  and  are  among  them 
as  grown  people  among  children,  requiring  war,  or 
trade,  or  engineering,  or  science,  instead  of  frivolous 
games.  They  are  proud  and  private,  and,  even  if  dis 
posed  to  recreation,  will  avoid  the  open  garden.  '  They 
sported  sadly — Us  Jamusaient  tristement,  selon  la  cou- 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  221 

tume  de  leur  pays,'  says  Froissart;  and  I  suppose  never 
nation  built  their  party-walls  so  thick,  or  their  garden 
fences  so  high.  Meat  and  wine  produce  no  effect  upon 
them;  they  are  just  as  cold,  quiet,  and  composed  at  the 
end  as  at  the  beginning  of  dinner." 

For  all  these  and  many  other  apparently  con 
tradictory  statements  of  the  traits  of  the  Eng 
lishmen,  Emerson  himself  gives  an  explanation, 
satisfactory  enough  as  far  as  it  goes  :  "  They  are  con 
tradictorily  described  as  sour,  splenetic,  and  stub 
born,  and  as  mild,  sweet,  and  sensible.     The  truth 
is,  they  have  great  range  and  variety  of  character. 
Commerce  sends  abroad  multitudes  of  different 
classes.     The  choleric  Welshman,  the  fervid  Scot, 
the  bilious  resident  in  the  East  or  the  West  In 
dies,  are  wide  of  the  perfect  behavior  of  the  edu 
cated  and  dignified  man  of  family.     So  is  the 
burly  farmer ;  so  is  the  country  squire,  with  his 
narrow  and  violent  life.    In  every  inn  is  the  com 
mercial  room,  in  which  'travelers'  or  bagmen, 
who  carry  patterns  and  solicit  orders  for  the  man 
ufacturers,  are  wont  to  be  entertained.     It  easily 
happens  that  this  class  should  characterize  Eng 
land  to  the  foreigner,  who  meets  them  on  the 
road  and  at  every  public-house,  whilst  the  gentry 
avoid  the  taverns,  or  seclude  themselves  whilst  in 
them.     But,"  he  continues,    "these  classes  are 
the  right  English  stock,  and  may  fairly  show  the 
national  qualities  before  yet  art  and  education 
have  dealt  with  them." 


222  EMERSON. 

ENGLISH    WHIMSICALITY. 

"  The  English  are  a  nation  of  humorists.  Individual 
right  is  pushed  to  the  outermost  bound  compatible  with 
public  order.  Property  is  so  perfect  that  it  seems  the 
craft  of  that  race,  and  not  to  exist  elsewhere.  The  king 
can  not  step  on  an  acre  which  the  peasant  refuses  to  sell. 
A  testator  endows  a  dog  or  a  rookery,  and  Europe  can 
not  interfere  with  his  absurdity.  Every  individual  has 
his  particular  way  of  living,  which  he  pushes  to  folly ; 
and  the  decided  sympathy  of  his  compatriots  is  engaged 
to  back  up  Mr.  Crump's  whim  by  statutes,  and  chan 
cellors,  and  horse-guards.  There  is  no  freak  so  ridicu 
lous  but  some  Englishman  has  attempted  to  immortalize 
it  by  money  and  law.  Mr.  Cockayne  is  very  sensible  of 
this.  That  pursy  man  means  by  freedom  the  right  to  do 
as  he  pleases,  and  does  wrong  in  order  to  feel  his  free 
dom,  and  makes  a  conscience  of  persisting  in  it." 

Perhaps  Mr.  Emerson  would  say  that,  when 
Mr.  Cockayne  and  others  of  his  ilk  insulted  and 
almost  mobbed  Lady  Burdette  -  Ooutts  in  the 
streets  of  London  because  she  had  contracted  a 
marriage  which  did  not  suit  their  fancy,  they 
were  only  exercising  their  own  inalienable  right 
of  letting  her  know  what  they  thought  of  the 
matter.  Mr.  Emerson  has  something  to  say  about 
English  self-conceit  and  braggadocio,  quoting  as 
quite  apposite  what  was  written  nearly  three  cen 
turies  ago  by  a  Venetian  traveler  :  "The  English 
are  great  lovers  of  themselves,  and  of  everything 
belonging  to  them.  They  think  there  are  no 
other  men  than  themselves,  and  no  other  world  but 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  223 

England."    Speaking  in  his  own  person,  Emerson 
proceeds  : 

ENGLISH   SELF-CONCEIT. 

"  I  have  found  that  Englishmen  have  such  a  good 
opinion  of  England  that  the  ordinary  phrases,  in  all  good 
society,  of  postponing  or  disparaging  one's  own  things  in 
talking  with  a  stranger,  are  seriously  mistaken  by  them 
for  an  insuppressible  homage  to  the  merits  of  their  own 
nation ;  and  the  New  Yorker  or  Pennsylvanian  who 
modestly  laments  the  disadvantage  of  a  new  country — 
log-huts  and  savages — is  surprised  by  the  instant  and 
unfeigned  commiseration  of  the  whole  company,  who 
plainly  account  all  the  world  out  of  England  a  heap  of 
rubbish.  The  same  insular  limitation  pinches  his  foreign 
politics.  He  sticks  to  his  traditions  and  usages ;  and,  so 
help  him  God!  he  will  force  his  island  by-laws  down 
the  throat  of  great  countries,  like  India,  China,  Canada, 
Australia ;  and  not  only  so,  but  impose  Wapping  on  the 
Congress  of  Vienna,  and  trample  down  all  nationalities 
with  his  taxed  boots.  In  short,  I  am  afraid  that  English 
nature  is  so  rank  and  aggressive  as  to  be  a  little  incom 
patible  with  every  other." 

This  trait  crops  out  everywhere.  "There 
are,"  says  Emerson,  "  really  no  limits  to  this  con 
ceit,  though  brighter  men  among  them  make 
painful  efforts  to  be  candid.  At  all  events,  they 
feel  themselves  at  liberty  to  assume  the  most  ex 
traordinary  tone  on  the  subject  of  English  mer 
its."  This  they  do,  not  only  at  home,  but  when 
abroad.  "  An  English  lady  on  the  Rhine,  hearing 
a  German  speaking  of  her  party  as  '  foreigners/ 


224  EMERSON. 

exclaimed,  '  No,  we  are  not  foreigners,  we  are 
English  ;  it  is  you  who  are  foreigners  ! '  He  adds  : 
"France  is,  by  its  natural  contrast,  a  kind  of 
blackboard,  on  which  the  English  character  draws 
its  own  traits  in  chalk.  This  arrogance  habitu 
ally  exhibits  itself  in  allusions  to  the  French.  I 
suppose  that  all  men  of  English  blood  in  Amer 
ica,  Europe  or  Asia  have  a  secret  joy  that  they 
are  not  French  natives."  Closely  allied  to  this 
omnipresent  self-conceit — and,  indeed,  only  a  very 
disagreeable  mode  of  expressing  it— is  another 
trait : 

ENGLISH  BRAGGADOCIO. 

"  But,  beyond  this  nationality,  it  most  be  admitted 
that  the  island  offers  a  daily  worship  to  the  old  Norse 
god  Brage,  celebrated  among  our  Scandinavian  fore 
fathers  for  his  eloquence  and  majestic  air.  They  tell  you 
daily,  in  London,  the  story  of  the  Frenchman  and  the 
Englishman  who  quarreled.  Both  were  unwilling  to 
fight,  but  their  companions  put  them  up  to  it.  At  last 
it  was  agreed  that  they  should  fight  alone,  in  the  dark, 
and  with  pistols.  The  candles  were  put  out,  and  the 
Englishman,  to  make  sure  not  to  hit  anybody,  fired  up 
the  chimney,  and  brought  down  the  Frenchman.  They 
have  no  curiosity  about  foreigners,  and  answer  any 
information  you  may  volunteer  with,  *  Oh,  oh !  '  until 
the  informant  makes  up  his  mind  that  they  shall  die  in 
their  ignorance  for  any  help  he  will  offer." 

Mr.  Emerson  finds  thus  much  to  say  even  in 
favor  of  this  particular  English  trait :  "  There 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  225 

is  this  benefit  in  brag,  that  the  speaker  is  un 
consciously  expressing  his  own  ideal.  Humor 
him  by  all  means,  draw  it  all  out,  and  hold  him 
to  it.  Nature  makes  nothing  in  vain,  and  this 
little  superfluity  of  self-regard  in  the  English 
brain  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  their  power  and  his 
tory.  For  it  sets  every  man  on  being  and  doing 
what  he  really  is  and  can.  It  takes  away  a  dodg 
ing,  skulking,  secondary  air,  and  encourages  a 
frank  and  manly  bearing  ;  so  that  each  man 
makes  the  most  of  himself,  and  loses  no  opportu 
nity  for  want  of  pushing. "  The  English  have  cer 
tainly  lost  nothing  for  want  of  pushing,  though, 
perhaps,  they  are  beginning  to  feel  that  they  are 
like  to  lose  by  over-pushing,  and  by  trying  to 
hold  on  to  what  they  have  apparently  won. 
Speaking  of  English  rule  abroad,  and  some  kin 
dred  matters,  Emerson  says  : 

ENGLISH   NARROWNESS. 

"But  this  childish  patriotism  costs  something,  like 
all  narrowness.  The  English  sway  of  their  colonies  has 
no  root  of  kindness.  They  govern  by  their  arts  and 
their  ability ;  they  are  more  just  than  kind,  and  when 
ever  an  abatement  of  their  power  is  felt  they  have  not 
conciliated  the  affection  on  which  to  rely.  The  English 
dislike  the  American  structure  of  society,  whilst  yet 
trade,  mills,  public  education,  and  Chartism  are  doing 
what  they  can  to  create  in  England  the  same  social  con 
dition.  America  is  the  paradise  of  economists,  is  the  fa 
vorable  exception  invariably  quoted  to  the  rules  of  ruin. 
15 


226  EMERSON. 

But,  when  he  speaks  directly  of  the  Americans,  the 
islander  forgets  his  philosophy,  and  remembers  his  dis 
paraging  anecdotes." 

One  need  not  go  far  to  find  instances  of  the 
unkindness  of  England  toward  every  people  with 
whom  she  has  had  to  do  with  power  to  execute 
her  will,  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  find  examples  of 
her  justice.  Mr.  Emerson  sums  up  pithily  what 
he  has  to  say  in  regard  to  the  general  relations  of 
England  to  the  rest  of  the  world  :  "In  short,  I 
am  afraid  that  the  English  nature  is  so  rank  and 
aggressive  as  to  be  a  little  incompatible  with  every 
other.  The  world  is  not  wide  enough  for  two  "  ; 
that  is,  we  suppose,  for  the  English  and  anybody 
else. 

Of  the  immense  wealth  accumulated  in  Eng 
land  Mr.  Emerson  speaks  in  terms  of  wonder, 
and  he  noticed  particularly  the  universal  homage 
paid  to  it. 

ENGLISH   HOMAGE    TO  WEALTH. 

"  There  is  no  country  in  which  so  absolute  a  homage 
is  paid  to  wealth.  In  America  there  is  a  touch  of  shame 
when  a  man  exhibits  the  evidences  of  a  large  property ; 
as  if,  after  all,  it  needed  apology.  But  the  Englishman 
has  pure  pride  in  his  wealth,  and  esteems  it  a  final  certif 
icate.  A  coarse  logic  rules  throughout  all  English  souls  : 
'  If  you  have  merit,  can  you  not  show  it  by  your  good 
clothes,  and  coach  and  horses?  How  can  a  man  be  a 
gentleman  without  a  pipe  of  wine  ? '  Haydon  says, 
*  There  is  a  fierce  resolution  to  make  every  man  live  ac- 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  227 

cording  to  the  means  he  possesses.'  There  is  a  mixture 
of  religion  in  it.  They  are  under  the  Jewish  law ;  and 
read  with  sonorous  emphasis  that  their  days  shall  be 
long  in  the  land ;  they  shall  have  sons  and  daughters, 
flocks  and  herds,  wine  and  oil.' 

"In  exact  proportion  is  the  reproach  of  poverty. 
They  do  not  wish  to  he  represented  except  by  opulent 
men.  An  Englishman  who  has  lost  his  fortune  is  said  to 
have  '  died  of  a  broken  heart.'  The  last  term  of  insult 
is,  '  a  beggar.'  Nelson  said,  '  The  want  of  fortune  is  a 
crime  I  can  not  get  over.'  Sydney  Smith  said,  '  Poverty 
is  infamous  in  England.'  And  one  of  their  recent  writers 
speaks,  in  reference  to  a  private  and  scholastic  life,  of 
'  the  grave  moral  deterioration  which  follows  an  empty 
exchequer.'  You  shall  find  this  sentiment,  if  not  so 
frankly  put,  yet  deeply  implied  in  the  novels  and  ro 
mances  of  the  present  century ;  and  not  only  in  these, 
but  in  biography,  and  in  the  notes  of  public  men,  in  the 
tone  of  preaching,  and  in  the  table-talk." 

Mr.  Emerson  is  no  despiser  of  wealth,  but  of 
the  inordinate  estimate  put  upon  the  personal 
possession  of  it,  he  says  : 

VALUES   OF    WEALTH. 

"The  creation  of  wealth  in  England  during  the  last 
ninety  years  is  a  main  fact  in  modern  history;  The  wealth 
of  London  determines  prices  all  over  the  globe.  All  things 
precious  or  useful  or  amusing  or  intoxicating,  are  sucked 
into  this  commerce,  or  floated  into  London.  A  hundred 
thousand  palaces  adorn  the  island.  All  that  can  feed  the 
senses  and  passions ;  all  that  can  succor  the  talent  or 
arm  the  hands  of  the  intelligent  middle  class,  who  never 


228  EMERSON. 

share  in  what  they  buy  for  their  own  consumption  ;  all 
that  can  aid  science,  gratify  taste,  or  soothe  comfort,  is 
in  open  market.  Whatever  is  excellent  and  beautiful  in 
civil,  rural,  or  ecclesiastical  architecture ;  in  fountain,  gar 
den,  or  grounds,  the  English  noble  crosses  sea  and  land 
to  see  and  copy  at  home.  The  taste  and  science  of 
thirty  peaceful  generations  are  in  the  vast  auction  ;  and 
the  hereditary  principle  heaps  on  the  owner  of  to-day 
the  benefit  of  ages  of  owners.  The  present  generation 
of  owners  are  to  the  full  as  absolute  as  their  fathers  in 
choosing  and  producing  what  they  like." 


THE   BEST   RESULTS   OF   ENGLISH    WEALTH. 

"  But  the  proudest  result  of  this  creation  has  been 
the  great  and  refined  forces  it  has  put  at  the  disposal  of 
the  private  citizen.  In  the  social  world  an  Englishman 
to-day  has  the  best  lot.  He  goes  with  the  most  power 
ful  protection,  keeps  the  best  company,  is  armed  by  the 
best  education,  is  seconded  by  wealth ;  and  his  English 
name  and  accidents  are  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets  an 
nouncing  him.  I  much  prefer  the  condition  of  an  Eng 
lish  gentleman  of  the  better  class  to  that  of  any  poten 
tate  in  Europe— whether  for  travel,  or  for  opportunity 
of  society,  or  for  access  to  means  of  science  or  study,  or 
for  mere  comfort  and  easy,  healthy  relation  to  people  at 
home." 

Yet  under  this  mighty  and  seemingly  so  firm 
structure  of  British  wealth  are  hidden  manifold 
perils  and  evils.  Most  perilous  of  all  is  the  fact 
that  for  every  man  who  enjoys  these  undisputed 
advantages,  there  are  a  hundred,  perhaps  a  thou- 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  229 

sand,  who  have  no  share  in  them.  Emerson,  in 
looking  back  at  the  mighty  progress  of  the  ninety 
years  which  preceded  the  writing  of  this  book,  has 
to  look  on  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  And  this 
is  among  the  things  which  could  not  be  over 
looked.  It  was  among  the  sad  things  which  in 
spired  Carlyle  in  the  writing  of  his  "  Chartism  " 
only  a  few  years  before. 

WEALTH   AND   THE   ENGLISH   PEOPLE. 

"In  the  culmination  of  national  prosperity,  in  the 
annexation  of  countries;  building  of  ships,  depots, 
towns;  in  the  influx  of  tons  of  gold  and  silver;  amid 
the  chuckle  of  chancellors  and  financiers,  it  was  found 
that  bread  rose  to  famine  prices ;  that  the  yeoman  was 
forced  to  sell  his  cow  and  pig,  his  tools  and  his  acre  of 
land;  and  the  dread  barometer  of  the  poor-rates  was 
touching  the  point  of  ruin.  The  poor-rate  was  sucking 
in  the  solvent  classes,  and  forcing  an  exodus  of  farmers 
and  mechanics.  What  befalls  from  the  violence  of  finan 
cial  crises,  befalls  daily  in  the  violence  of  artificial  legis 
lation." 

This,  and  the  citation  which  follows,  was  evi 
dently  written  after  Emerson's  return  from  Eu 
rope,  say  some  thirty  years  ago.  Since  then  it 
has  received  an  added  emphasis  of  stern  truth  :  a 
truth  also  which  it  concerns  us  to  ponder  well  in 
our  own  behoof  ;  for  the  United  States  in  this 
year  1881  haVe  come  rapidly  to  approximate  to 
the  England  of  1851. 


230  EMERSON. 

BESPONSIBILITIEB   OF   WEALTH. 

"Such  a  wealth  has  England  earned  —  ever  new, 
bounteous,  and  augmenting.  But  the  question  recurs, 
Does  she  take  the  step  beyond;  namely,  to  the  wise  use, 
in  view  of  the  supreme  wealth  of  nations?  We  estimate 
the  wisdom  of  nations  by  seeing  what  they  did  with  their 
surplus  capital.  And  in  view  of  these  injuries,  some 
compensation  has  been  attempted  in  England.  A  part 
of  the  money  earned  returns  to  the  brain,  to  buy  schools, 
libraries,  bishops,  astronomers,  chemists,  and  artists  with ; 
and  a  part  to  repair  the  wrongs  of  this  intemperate  weav 
ing,  by  hospitals,  saving-banks,  mechanics'  institutes, 
public  grounds,  and  other  charities  and  amenities.  But 
the  antidotes  are  frightfully  inadequate,  and  the  evil 
requires  a  deeper  cure,  which  time  and  a  simpler  social 
organization  must  supply.  At  present  she  does  not  rule 
her  wealth.  She  is  simply  a  good  England,  but  no  di 
vinity,  or  wise  and  instructed  soul.  She,  too,  is  in  the 
stream  of  fate — one  victim  more  in  a  common  catas 
trophe. 

"But  being  in  the  fault,  she  has  the  misfortune  of 
greatness  to  be  held  as  the  chief  offender.  England 
must  be  held  responsible  for  the  despotism  of  expense. 
Her  prosperity,  the  splendor  which  so  much  manhood 
and  talent  and  perseverance  has  thrown  upon  vulgar 
aims,  is  the  very  argument  of  materialism.  Her  success 
strengthens  the  hands  of  base  wealth.  Who  can  propose 
to  youth,  poverty  and  wisdom,  when  mean  gain  has  ar 
rived  at  the  conquest  of  letters  and  arts  ?  when  English 
success  has  grown  out  of  the  very  renunciation  of  trifles, 
and  the  dedication  to  outsides?  Hardly  the  bravest 
among  them  have  the  manliness  to  resist  it  successfully. 
Hence  it  has  come  that  not  the  aims  of  a  manly  life,  but 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  231 

the  means  of  meeting  a  ponderous  expense,  is  that  to  be 
considered  by  a  youth  in  England  emerging  from  his 
minority.  A  large  family  is  reckoned  a  misfortune;  and 
it  is  a  consolation  in  the  death  of  the  young  that  a  source 
of  expense  is  closed." 

Of  the  aristocracy  of  England — using  the  term 
in  its  limited  sense,  to  indicate  that  class  who 
owe  their  position  rather  to  birth  than  to  personal 
qualities — Emerson  speaks  half  in  admiration  and 
half  in  kindly  deprecation.  "  The  feudal  char 
acter  of  the  English  State,  now  that  it  is  getting 
obsolete,  glares  a  little  in  contrast  with  the  demo 
cratic  tendencies.  The  inequality  of  power  and 
property  shocks  republican  nerves.  Palaces,  halls, 
villas,  walled  parks,  all  over  England,  rival  the 
splendor  of  royal  seats.  Many  of  the  halls,  like 
Herdon  or  Eedleston,  are  beautiful  desolations. 
The  proprietor  never  saw  them,  or  never  lived  in 
them.  Primogeniture  built  those  sumptuous  piles, 
and,  I  suppose,  it  is  the  sentiment  of  every  trav 
eler,  as  it  is  mine,  '  'Twas  well  to  come  ere  these 
were  gone.' ' 

ENGLISH    PKIMOGENITURE. 

"  Primogeniture  is  a  cardinal  rule  of  English  property 
and  institutions.  Laws,  customs,  manners,  the  very  per 
sons  and  faces  affirm  it.  The  frame  of  society  is  aristo 
cratic,  the  taste  of  the  people  is  loyal.  The  estates, 
names,  and  manners  of  the  people  flatter  the  fancy  of  the 
people,  and  conciliate  the  necessary  support.  In  spite 
of  broken  faith,  stolen  charters,  and  the  devastation  of  so- 


2B2  EMERSON. 

ciety  by  the  profligacy  of  the  court,  we  take  sides,  as  we 
read,  for  the  loyal  England,  and  King  Charles's  *  return 
to  his  right '  with  his  cavaliers — knowing  what  a  heart 
less  trifler  he  is,  and  what  a  crew  of  God-forsaken  rob 
bers  they  are.  The  people  of  England  knew  as  much, 
but  the  fair  idea  of  a  settled  government,  connecting 
itself  with  heraldic  names,  with  the  written  and  oral  his 
tory  of  Europe,  and  at  last  with  the  Hebrew  religion 
and  the  oldest  traditions  of  the  world,  was  too  pleasing  a 
tradition  to  be  shattered  by  a  few  offensive  realities,  and 
the  politics  of  shoemakers  and  costermongers." 

BOND   BETWEEN    COMMONEBS   AND   NOBLES. 

"  The  hopes  of  the  commoners  take  the  same  direction 
with  the  interest  of  the  patricians.  Every  man  who  be 
comes  rich  buys  land,  and  does  what  he  can  to  fortify 
the  nobility,  into  which  he  hopes  to  rise.  The  Anglican 
clergy  are  identified  with  the  aristocracy.  Time  and  law 
have  made  the  joining  and  molding  perfect  in  every 
part.  The  cathedrals,  the  universities,  the  national  mu 
sic,  the  popular  romances,  conspire  to  uphold  the  her 
aldry  which  the  current  politics  of  the  day  are.  sapping. 
The  taste  of  the  people  is  conservative.  They  are  proud 
of  the  castles  and  of  the  language  and  symbols  of  chiv 
alry.  Even  the  word  '  lord '  is  the  luckiest  style  that  is 
used  in  any  language  to  designate  a  patrician.  The  su 
perior  education  and  manners  of  the  nobles  recommend 
them  to  the  country." 


CHANGES   IN   THE   NOBILITY. 

"  The  Norwegian  pirate  got  what  he  could,  and  held  it 
for  his  son.    The  Norman  noble,  who  was  the  Norwegian 


ENGLISH   TRAITS.  283 


pirate  baptized,  did  likewise.  There  was  this  advantage 
of  Western  over  Oriental  nobility,  that  this  was  recruited 
from  below.  English  history  is  aristocracy  with  the 
doors  open.  Who  has  courage  and  capacity,  let  him 
come  in.  Of  course,  the  terms  of  admission  to  this  club 
are  hard  and  high.  The  selfishness  of  the  nobles  comes 
in  aid  of  the  interest  of  the  nation  to  require  signal  merit. 
Piracy  and  war  gave  place  to  trade,  politics,  and  letters 
of  the  war-lord  to  the  law-lord,  the  law-lord  to  the  mer 
chant  and  mill-owner  ;  but  the  privilege  was  kept,  while 
the  means  of  obtaining  it  were  changed." 

The  successive  changes  in  the  manner  of  get 
ting  place  among  the  nobles  are  briefly  touched 
upon.  We  abbreviate  them  still  more  : 

THE    OLD   WAK-LOEDS. 

"  The  foundations  of  these  families  lie  deep  in  Nor 
wegian  exploits  by  sea,  and  Saxon  sturdiness  on  land. 
All  nobility,  in  its  beginnings,  was  somebody's  natural 
superiority.  The  things  these  English  have  done  were 
not  done  without  peril  of  life,  nor  without  wisdom  and 
conduct ;  and  the  first  hands,  it  may  be  presumed,  were 
often  challenged  to  show  their  right  to  their  honors,  or 
yield  them  to  better  men.  And  I  make  no  doubt  that 
the  feudal  tenure  was  no  sinecure,  but  baron,  knight,  and 
tenant  often  had  their  memories  refreshed  in  regard  to 
the  service  by  -which  they  held  their  lands.  The  war 
lord  earned  his  honors,  and  no  donation  of  land  was 
large,  as  long  as  it  brought  the  duty  of  protecting  it  hour 
by  hour  against  a  terrible  enemy.  In  France  and  Eng 
land  the  nobles  were,  down  to  a  late  day,  bred  to  war, 
and  the  duel,  which  in  peace  still  held  them  to  the  risks 


234  EMERSON. 

of  war,  diminished  the  envy  that,  in  trading  and  studious 
nations,  would  have  elso  pried  into  their  title.  They 
were  looked  upon  as  men  who  played  high  for  a  great 
stake." 

Partly  succeeding  to,  partially  accompanying, 
and  to  a  great  extent  superseding,  these  old  war 
lords  are  the  comparatively  modern  peace-lords, 
of  whom  Emerson  says  : 

THE   MODERN   PEACE-LORDS. 

"  The  new  age  brings  new  qualities  into  request. 
The  virtues  of  pirates  give  way  to  those  of  planters, 
merchants,  senators,  and  scholars.  Comity,  social  tal 
ent,  and  fine  manners,  no  doubt,  have  had  their  part 
also.  I  have  met  somewhere  with  a  historiette,  which, 
whether  more  or  less  true  in  its  particulars,  carries  a 
general  truth.  '  How  came  the  Duke  of  Bedford  by  his 
great  landed  estates  ?  His  ancestor,  having  traveled  on 
the  continent — a  lively,  pleasant  man — became  the  com 
panion  of  a  foreign  prince,  wrecked  on  the  Devonshire 
coast,  where  a  Mr.  Kussell  lived.  The  prince  recom 
mended  him  to  Henry  the  Eighth,  who,  liking  his  com 
pany,  gave  him  a  large  share  of  the  plundered  church 
lands.'  The  pretense  is  that  the  noble  is  of  unbroken 
descent  from  the  JSTorman,  and  has  never  worked  for 
eight  hundred  years.  But  the  fact  is  otherwise.  Where 
is  Bohun?  Where  is  De  Vere?  The  lawyer,  the  far 
mer,  the  silk-mercer,  lies  perdu  under  the  coronet,  and 
winks  to  the  antiquary  to  say  nothing  ;  especially  skillful 
lawyers,  nobody's  sons,  who  did  some  piece  of  work,  at 
a  nice  time,  for  Government,  and  were  rewarded  with 
ermine." 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  235 

This  illustrative  "  historiette  "  is  substantially 
true  ;  and  is  told  at  some  length  in  Burke's  "  Brit 
ish  Peerage."  The  "foreign  prince  wrecked  on 
the  Devonshire  coast,"  was  the  Archduke  Philip 
of  Austria,  only  son  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian 
I,  and  husband  of  the  mad  Juana,  daughter  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  of  Spain,  and  the  father 
of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  This  John  Russell, 
recommended  by  the  Archduke  Philip,  entered 
the  service  of  Henry  VIII,  and  in  1538  was  raised 
to  the  peerage  as  Baron  Russell.  In  1540,  when 
the  great  monasteries  were  dissolved,  his  lordship 
obtained  a  grant  to  himself,  his  wife,  and  their 
heirs,  of  the  site  of  the  Abbey  of  Tavistock,  and 
of  extensive  possessions  belonging  thereunto.  In 
1550  he  was  made  Earl  of  Bedford,  and  in  1694  his 
descendant,  the  fifth  earl,  was  created  Duke  of 
Bedford.  There  are  few  English  houses  who  have 
within  the  last  two  centuries  played  so  great  a 
part  in  history  as  this  of  Bedford,  founded  by  an 
untitled  gentleman.  Among  the  most  notable  of 
this  family  were  the  patriot  William,  Lord  Rus 
sell,  son  and  heir  of  the  first  Duke  of  Bedford, 
who  was  judicially  murdered  in  1683  ;  and  the 
statesman  long  famous  as  Lord  John  Russell, 
third  son  of  the  sixth  Duke  of  Bedford,  and  who 
died  as  Earl  Russell. 

Emerson  is  ready  to  grant  that  the  English 
peerage,  as  such,  has  had  and  still  has  its  uses. 
He  says  :  "If  one  asks,  in  the  critical  spirit  of 


236  EMERSON. 

the  day,  what  service  this  class  have  rendered  ? 
uses  appear,  or  they  would  have  perished  long 
ago.  Some  of  these  are  easily  enumerated,  others 
more  subtle  make  a  part  of  unconscious  history. 
Their  institution  is  one  step  in  the  progress  of 
society.  For  a  race  yields  a  nobility  in  some 
form,  however  we  name  the  lords,  as  surely  as  it 
yields  women. "  The  most  noticeable  present  use 
of  the  peerage  he  thinks  is  that  it  forms  a  recog 
nized  school  of  manners;  and  "whatever  tends 
to  form  manners,  or  to  finish  men,  has  a  great 
value." 

MANNEES   OF   THE   PEEEAGE. 

"  The  English  nobles  are  high-spirited,  active,  educa 
ted  men,  born  to  wealth  and  power,  who  have  run 
through  every  country,  and  kept  in  every  country  the 
best  of  company.  You  can  not  wield  great  agencies 
without  lending  yourself  to  them,  and  when  it  happens 
that  the  spirit  of  the  earl  meets  his  rank  and  duties,  we 
have  the  best  examples  of  behavior.  Power  of  any  kind 
readily  appears  in  the  manners;  and  beneficent  power 
— le  talent  de  lien  faire — gives  a  majesty  which  can  not 
be  concealed  or  resisted.  '  The  upper  classes,'  say  the  peo 
ple  here,  'have  only  birth,  and  not  thoughts.'  Yes,  but 
they  have  manners,  and  it  is  wonderful  how  much  talent 
runs  into  manners;  nowhere  and  never  so  much  as  in 
England.  They  have  the  sense  of  a  superiority,  the  ab 
sence  of  the  ambitious  effort  which  disgusts  in  the  aspir 
ing  classes,  a  pure  tone  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  the 
power  to  command,  among  their  other  luxuries,  the 
presence  of  the  most  distinguished  men  at  their  festive 
meetings.  The  economist  who  asks,  'Of  what  use  are 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  237 

lords  ? '  may  learn  to  ask,  with  Franklin,  *  Of  what  use  is 
a  baby  ? '  They  have  been  a  social  church,  proper  to  in 
spire  sentiments  mutually  honoring  the  lover  and  the 
loved.  Politeness  is  the  ritual  of  society  as  prayers  are 
of  the  Church,  a  school  of  manners,  and  a  gentle  bless 
ing  to  the  age  in  which  it  grew.  It  is  a  romance  adorn 
ing  English  life  with  a  fairer  horizon ;  a  midway  heaven 
fulfilling  to  their  sense  their  fairy  tales  and  poetry.  This, 
just  as  far  as  the  breeding  of  the  nobleman,  really  made 
him  brave,  handsome,  accomplished,  and  great-hearted." 

Yet  there  is  presented  also  quite  another  as 
pect  of  the  manners  of  the  English  aristocracy. 
And  this  other  aspect  must  be  noted.  At  court, 
and  in  the  very  highest  circles,  as  far  as  we  can 
judge,  the  code  of  manners,  except  in  so  far  as 
those  belonging  to  those  narrow  circles  are  con 
cerned,  is  the  height  of  ill-breeding.  Emerson 
touches  upon  this  side  briefly  but  emphatically. 

THE  NOBLES  AND  THE  COMMONEKS. 

"  Most  of  the  nobles  are  only  chargeable  with  idleness, 
which,  because  it  squanders  such  vast  power  of  benefits, 
has  the  mischief  of  crime.  My  friend  [whom  we  suppose 
to  be  Oarlyle]  said :  *  They  might  be  little  providences 
upon  earth,  and  they  are  for  the  most  part  jockeys  and 
fops.'  Campbell  says :  '  Acquaintance  with  the  nobility 
I  could  never  keep  up ;  it  requires  a  life  of  idleness, 
dressing,  and  attendance  on  their  parties.'  A  man  of 
wit,  who  is  also  one  of  the  celebrities  of  wealth  and 
fashion,  confessed  to  his  friend  that  he  could  not  enter 
their  houses  without  being  made  to  feel  that  they  were 


238  EMERSON. 

great  lords,  and  he  a  low  plebeian.  With  the  tribe  of 
artistes,  including  the  musical  tribe,  the  patrician  morgue 
keeps  no  terms,  but  excludes  them.  When  Julia  Grisi 
and  Mario  sang  at  the  houses  of  the  Duke  of  Welling 
ton  and  other  grandees,  a  ribbon  was  stretched  between 
the  singer  and  the  company." 

THE   TJNTITLED   NOBILITY. 

"  I  suppose,  too,  that  a  feeling  of  self-respect  is  driv 
ing  men  out  of  this  society,  as  if  the  noble  were  slow  to 
receive  the  lesson  of  the  times,  and  had  not  learned  to  dis 
guise  his  pride  of  place.  A  multitude  of  English,  educated 
at  the  universities,  bred  into  their  society,  with  manners, 
ability,  and  the  gifts  of  fortune,  are  every  day  confront 
ing  the  peers,  and  outstripping  them,  as  often,  in  the  race 
of  honor  and  influence.  That  cultivated  class  is  large 
and  ever  enlarging.  It  is  computed  that,  with  titles  and 
without,  there  are  seventy  thousand  of  these  people  com 
ing  and  going  in  London,  who  make  up  what  is  called 
'  high  society.'  They  can  not  shut  their  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  an  un titled  nobility  possesses  all  the  power,  without 
the  inconveniences,  that  belong  to  rank;  and  the  rich 
Englishman  goes  over  the  world  at  the  present  day,  draw 
ing  more  than  all  the  advantages  which  the  strongest  of 
his  kings  could  command. 

"The  revolution  in  society  has  reached  this  class. 
The  great  powers  of  industrial  art  have  no  exclusion  of 
name  or  blood.  The  tools  of  our  time,  namely,  steam, 
ships,  printing,  money,  and  popular  education,  belong  to 
those  who  can  handle  them ;  and  their  eifect  has  been 
that  the  advantages  once  confined  to  men  of  family  are 
now  open  to  the  whole  middle  class.  The  road  that 
grandeur  levels  for  his  coach,  toil  can  travel  in  his  cart." 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  239 

The  political  status  of  the  House  of  Peers  is 
worthy  of  consideration.  At  the  time  of  Emer 
son's  visit,  the  list  numbered  five  hundred  and 
seventy.  But  he  says,  "  On  ordinary  days  there 
were  only  twenty  or  thirty  in  attendance.  '  Where 
are  the  others  ? '  I  asked.  v  At  home  on  their 
estates,  devoured  with  ennui,  or  in  the  Alps,  or  up 
the  Rhine,  in  the  Harz  Mountains,  or  in  Egypt, 
or  in  India,  on  the  Ghauts.'  '  But  with  such  in 
terests  at  stake,  how  can  these  men  afford  to 
neglect  them?'  'Oh, 'replied  my  friend,  'why 
should  they  work  for  themselves,  when  every  man 
in  England  works  for  them,  and  will  suffer  before 
they  come  to  harm."  Still  these  six  hundred 
peers,  not  one  in  ten  of  whom  has  reached  that 
place  except  by  reason  that  his  father  before  him 
was  a  peer,  have,  in  theory  at  least,  fully  as  much 
weight  in  the  Government  as  all  the  rest  of  Great 
Britain.  Upon  this  point  Emerson  says  : 

THE  STATUS  OF  THE  PEERS. 

"  The  existence  of  the  House  of  Peers  as  a  branch  of 
the  Government  entitles  them  to  fill  half  the  Cabinet ; 
and  their  weight  of  property  and  station  give  them  a 
virtual  nomination  of  the  other  half;  whilst  they  have 
their  share  in  the  subordinate  offices  as  a  school  of  train 
ing.  This  monopoly  of  political  power  has  given  them 
their  intellectual  and  social  eminence  in  Europe.  A  few 
law-lords  and  a  few  political  lords  take  the  brunt  of 
public  business.  In  the  army  the  nobility  fill  a  large 
part  of  the  high  commissions,  and  give  to  these  a  tone  of 


240  EMERSON. 

expense  and  splendor,  and  also  of  exclusiveness.  They 
have  borne  their  full  share  of  danger  and  duty  in  the 
service.  For  the  rest,  the  nobility  have  the  lead  in  mat 
ters  of  state  and  expense ;  in  questions  of  taste,  in  social 
usages,  in  convivial  and  domestic  hospitalities.  In  gen 
eral,  all  that  is  required  of  them  is  to  sit  securely,  to  pre 
side  at  public  meetings,  to  countenance  public  charities, 
and  to  give  the  example  of  that  decorum  so  dear  to  the 
British  heart." 

Of  the  religion  of  England,  as  crystallized  in 
the  rites  of  the  Established  Church,  Emerson  has 
many  things  to  say,  and  some  not  altogether  laud 
atory.  To  his  view  it  is  not  the  embodiment  of 
a  system  of  faith.  "  English  life,"  he  says,  "  does 
not  grow  out  of  the  Athanasian  Creed,  or  the 
Articles,  or  the  Eucharist.  ...  In  the  barbarous 
days  of  a  nation  some  cultus  is  formed  or  im 
ported  :  altars  are  built,  tithes  are  paid,  priests 
ordained.  The  education  and  expenditure  of  the 
country  takes  that  direction ;  and  when  wealth, 
refinement,  great  men,  and  ties  to  the  world  su 
pervene,  its  prudent  men  say,  <  Why  fight  against 
fate,  or  lift  those  absurdities  which  are  now  moun 
tains  ?  Better  find  some  niche  or  crevice  in  this 
mountain  of  stone  which  religious  ages  have  quar 
ried  and  carved  wherein  to  bestow  yourself,  than 
attempt  anything  ridiculously  and  dangerously 
above  your  strength,  like  removing  it.'"  Still 
the  Church  of  England  has  in  it  a  mighty  power, 
as  he  acknowledges  : 


ENGLISH   TRAITS  241 

DEVELOPMENT    OF    THE    ANGLICAN"    OHUKOH. 

"  The  Catholic  Church,  thrown  on  this  serious,  toil 
ing  people,  has  made  in  fourteen  centuries  a  massive  sys 
tem,  close-fitted  to  the  manners  and  genius  of  the  coun 
try,  at  once  domestical  and  stately.  In  the  long  time  it 
has  hlended  with  everything  in  heaven  above  and  the 
earth  beneath.  It  moves  through  a  zodiac  of  feasts  and 
fasts ;  names  every  day  of  the  year,  every  town  and  mar 
ket  and  headland  and  monument ;  and  has  coupled  itself 
with  the  almanac,  that  no  court  can  be  held,  no  field 
plowed,  no  horse  shod,  without  some  leave  from  the 
Church.  All  maxims  of  prudence  or  shop  or  farm  are 
fixed  and  dated  from  the  Church.  Hence  its  strength  in 
the  agriculturial  dstricts.  The  distribution  of  lands  into 
parishes  enforces  a  church  sanction  to  every  civil  privilege ; 
and  the  gradation  of  the  clergy — prelates  for  the  rich, 
and  curates  for  the  poor— with  the  fact  that  a  classical 
education  has  been  secured  to  the  clergymen,  makes 
them,  as  Wordsworth  says,  *  the  link  that  unites  the  se 
questered  peasantry  with  the  intellectual  advancement 
of  the  age.'" 

THE    OLD    CHURCH   AND    THE    PEOPLE. 

"  The  English  Church  has  many  certificates  to  show 
of  humble,  effective  service  in  humanizing  the  people,  in 
cheering  and  refining  men,  feeding,  healing,  and  educa 
ting.  It  has  the  seal  of  martyrs  and  confessors ;  the  no 
blest  book  ;  a  sublime  architecture ;  a  ritual  marked  by 
the  same  secular  merits — nothing  cheap  or  purchasable. 
From  the  slow-grown  Church  important  reactions  pro 
ceed  ;  much  for  culture,  much  for  giving  a  direction  to 
the  nation's  affection  and  will  to-day.  The  carved  and 
pictured  chapel — its  entire  surface  animated  with  image 
16 


242  EMERSON. 

and  emblem — made  the  parish  church  a  sort  of  book  and 
Bible  to  the  people's  eye. 

"  Then,  when  the  Saxon  instinct  had  secured  a  ser 
vice  in  the  vernacular  tongue,  it  was  the  tutor  and  uni 
versity  of  the  people.  The  reverence  for  the  Scriptures 
is  an  element  of  civilization ;  for  thus  has  the  history  of 
the  world  been  preserved,  and  is  preserved.  Here  in 
England  every  day  a  chapter  of  Genesis,  and  a  leader  in 
the  '  Times.'  This  is  binding  the  old  and  new  to  some 
purpose." 

THE    OHUEOH    AND   LOYALTY. 

"(From  his  infancy  every  Englishman  is  accustomed 
to  hear  daily  prayers  for  the  Queen,  for  the  royal  fam 
ily,  and  the  Parliament,  by  name ;  and  the  life-long  con 
secration  of  these  personages  can  not  be  without  influ 
ence  on  his  opinions.  The  universities,  also,  are  parcel 
of  the  ecclesiastical  system,  and  their  first  design  is  to 
form  the  clergy.  Thus  the  clergy  for  a  thousand  years 
have  been  the  scholars  of  the  nation. 

"  The  national  temperament  deeply  enjoys  the  unbro 
ken  order  and  tradition  of  its  Church ;  the  liturgy,  cere 
mony,  architecture ;  the  sober  grace,  the  good  company, 
the  connection  with  the  throne,  and  with  history,  which 
adorn  it.  And  while  it  thus  endears  itself  to  men  with 
more  taste  than  activity,  the  stability  of  the  English  na 
tion  is  passionately  enlisted  to  its  support,  from  its  inex 
tricable  connection  with  the  cause  of  public  order,  with 
politics,  and  with  the  funds." 

ENGLISH    AGES    OF    FAITH. 

"  Good  churches  are  not  built  by  bad  men ;  at  least, 
there  must  be  probity  and  enthusiasm  somewhere  in  so 
ciety.  These  minsters  were  neither  built  nor  filled  by 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  243 

atheists.  N"o  church  has  had  more  learned,  industrious, 
or  devoted  men ;  plenty  of  '  clerks  and  bishops,'  as  Ful 
ler  says,  '  who,  out  of  their  gowns,  would  turn  their 
hacks  on  no  man.'  Their  architecture  still  glows  with 
faith  in  immortality.  Heats  and  genial  periods  arrive  in 
history;  or,  shall  we  say?  plenitudes  of  divine  presence, 
by  which  high  tides  are  caused  in  the  human  spirit,  and 
great  virtues  and  talents  appear,  as  in  the  eleventh, 
twelfth,  thirteenth,  and  again  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven 
teenth  centuries,  when  the  nation  was  full  of  genius  and 
piety." 

In  Emerson's  judgment  those  pious  ages  are 
no  more  ;  and  the  Anglican  Church  of  the  present 
is  not  what  it  was  : 

THE   PRESENT   ANGLICAN   OmjROH. 

"But  the  age  of  the  Wycliffes,  Oobhams,  Arundels, 
Beckets ;  of  the  Latimers,  Mores,  Cranmers ;  of  the  Tay 
lors,  Leightons,  Herberts ;  of  the  Sherlocks  and  Butlers, 
is  gone.  Silent  revolutions  in  opinion  have  made  it  im 
possible  that  men  like  these  should  return  or  find  a  place 
in  their  once  sacred  stalls.  The  spirit  which  once  dwelt 
in  this  Church  has  glided  away  to  animate  other  activi 
ties  ;  and  they  who  come  to  the  old  shrines  find  apes 
and  players  rustling  the  old  garments." 

A    CHURCH   OF  MANNERS. 

"  The  religion  of  England  is  part  of  good-breeding. 
When  you  see  on  the  Continent  the  well-dressed  Eng 
lishman  come  into  his  ambassador's  chapel,  and  put  his 
face,  for  silent  prayer,  into  his  smooth-brushed  hat,  one 
can  not  help  feeling  how  much  of  national  pride  prays 


EMERSON. 

with  him,  and  the  religion  of  a  gentleman.  So  far  is  he 
from  attaching  any  meaning  to  the  words,  that  he  be- 
lieves  he  has  done  almost  the  generous  thing,  and  that  it 
is  very  condescending  in  him  to  pray  to  God.  A  great 
duke  said,  on  the  occasion  of  a  victory,  that  he  thought 
the  Almighty  God  had  not  been  well  used  by  them,  and 
that  it  would  become  their  magnanimity,  after  so  great 
successes,  to  toke  order  that  a  proper  acknowledgement 
be  made." 

THE   CnUECH    OF   THE    KICK. 

"It  is  a  church  of  the  gentry,  and  not  a  church  of 
the  poor.  The  operatives  do  not  own  it ;  and  gentlemen 
lately  testified  in  the  House  of  Commons,  that  in  their 
lives  they  never  saw  a  poor  man  in  a  ragged  coat  inside 
a  church.  The  torpidity  on  the  side  of  religion  of  the 
vigorous  English  understanding  shows  how  much  wit 
and  folly  can  agree  in  one  brain. " 

Here,  once  more,  we  find  a  marked  example 
of  the  lofty  way  in  which  Emerson  is  wont  to 
deal  with  facts.  He  forms  the  widest  generaliza 
tions  from  a  few  instances,  in  no  wise  typical.  If 
an  English  gentleman,  when  he  enters  the  chapel 
of  the  British  embassy  abroad,  puts  his  face  into 
his  hat  for  silent  prayer,  what  right  has  Mr.  Em 
erson  to  suppose  that  he  is  "far  from  attaching 
any  meaning  to  the  words,"  eyen  though  that  hat 
be  a  well-brushed  one  ?  Quite  likely  also,  the 
gentlemen  testified  truly  in  Parliament  that  they 
"  never  saw  a  poor  man  in  a  ragged  coat  inside  a 
church  "  ;  but  to  our  mind  this  merely  shows  that 


ENGLISH   TRAITS,  245 

even  the  poor  men  who  attend  public  worship  have 
a  coat  that  is  not  ragged.  In  a  certain  sense  the 
Anglican  Church  is  the  church  of  the  rich ;  and 
it  is  well  that  it  is  so.  But  it  is  a  stretch  of  state 
ment  to  say  that  "it  is  not  the  church  of  the 
poor"  also.  Else  how  does  it  happen  that  this 
Church  has  such  "strength  in  the  agricultural 
districts,"  where  the  majority  of  the  people  cer 
tainly  can  not  be  rich  ? 

In  writing  of  the  Church  of  Old  England,  Mr. 
Emerson  reiterates,  in  substance,  what  he  had 
said  almost  twenty  years  before,  in  his  "  Divinity 
Address,"  of  the  Churches  of  New  England.  The 
burden  of  all  is  the  decay  of  worship.  This  de 
cay,  if  it  exist  at  all,  has  existed  a  long  time — as 
far  back  as  the  seventeenth  century,  in  Mr.  Emer 
son's  judgment.  If  this  were  so,  in  the  middle  of 
the  nineteenth  century  the  consequences  of  this 
"wasting  unbelief"  of  which  he  spoke  would  by 
this  time  have  come  to  bo  apparent :  "  When  all 
things  go  to  decay  genius  leaves  the  temple  to 
haunt  the  senate  or  the  market.  Literature  be 
comes  frivolous.  Science  is  cold.  The  eye  of 
youth  is  not  lighted  by  the  hope  of  other  worlds, 
and  age  is  without  honor.  Society  lives  to  trifles, 
and  when  men  die  we  do  not  mention  them." 
Does  England  present  this  aspect,  upon  Mr. 
Emerson's  own  showing  ? 

Emerson  is  apparently  sensible  that  these 
"  traits  "  do  not  cover  the  broad  field  of  English 


246  EMERSON. 

national  character,   for  in  the  closing   chapter, 
entitled  "Kesults,"  he  says  : 

ENGLISH    RESULTS. 

"  England  is  the  best  of  actual  nations.  It  is  no  ideal 
framework ;  it  is  an  old  pile,  built  in  different  ages,  with 
repairs,  additions,  and  makeshifts ;  but  you  see  the  poor 
best  you  have  got.  The  power  of  performance  has  not 
been  exceeded — the  creation  of  value.  The  English  have 
given  importance  to  individuals,  a  principal  end  and  fruit 
of  every  society.  '  Magna  Charta,'  said  Rushmore,  '  is 
such  a  fellow  that  he  will  have  no  sovereign.'  By  this 
sacredness  of  individuals,  they  have  in  seven  hundred 
years  evolved  the  principles  of  freedom.  It  is  the  land 
of  patriots,  martyrs,  sages,  and  bards;  and  if  the  ocean 
out  of  which  it  emerged  should  wash  it  away,  it  will  be 
remembered  as  an  island  famous  for  immortal  laws,  for 
the  announcements  of  original  right,  which  make  the 
stone  tables  of  liberty." 

Shortly  after  Emerson's  arrival  in  England, 
late  in  1847,  he  was  a  guest  at  the  annual  dinner 
given  by  the  Manchester  Athenaeum,  and  was  in 
vited,  among  others,  to  address  the  assemblage. 
The  times  wore  a  gloomy  outlook.  There  was 
great  commercial  disaster  and  unwonted  distress. 
He  recognized  all  this,  and  yet,  as  was  to  be  ex 
pected  on  such  an  occasion,  his  remarks  took  a 
hopeful  turn.  But  as  he  has  appended  this  ad 
dress  to  the  "English  Traits,"  we  may  assume 
that  it  represents  the  real  views  held  by  him  after 
an  interval  of  nearly  ten  years.  He  says  : 


ENGLISH  TRAITS.  247 

HAIL   AND   FAREWELL   TO   ENGLAND. 

"  Holiday  though  it  be,  I  have  not  tho  smallest  in 
terest  in  any  holiday,  except  as  it  celebrates  real  and  not 
pretended  joys ;  and  I  think  it  just,  in  this  time  of  gloom 
and  disaster,  of  affliction  and  beggary  in  these  districts, 
that,  on  these  very  accounts  I  speak  of,  you  should  not 
fail  to  keep  your  literary  anniversary.  I  seem  to  hear 
you  say  that  '  for  all  is  come  and  gone,  we  will  not  reduce 
by  one  chaplet,  or  by  one  oak  leaf,  the  braveries  of  our 
annual  feast.' 

"  For  I  must  tell  you,  I  was  given  to  understand  in 
my  childhood,  that  the  British  Island  from  which  my 
forefathers  came  was  no  lotus  garden,  no  paradise  of 
serene  sky,  and  roses  and  music  and  merriment  all  the 
year  round:  no,  but  a  cold,  foggy,  mournful  country, 
where  nothing  grew  well  in  the  open  air  but  robust  men 
and  virtuous  women,  and  these  of  a  wonderful  fiber  and 
endurance ;  that  their  best  parts  were  slowly  revealed  ; 
they  did  not  strike  twelve  the  first  time ;  good  lovers 
and  good  haters,  and  you  could  know  little  about  them 
till  you  had  seen  them  long,  and  little  good  of  them 
until  you  had  seen  them  in  action;  that  in  prosperity 
they  were  moody  and  dumpish,  but  in  adversity  they 
were  grand. 

"Is  it  not  true,  sir,  that  the  wise  ancients  did  not 
praise  the  ship  parting  with  flying  colors  from  the  port, 
but  only  that  brave  sailer  which  came  back  with  torn 
sheets  and  battered  sides,  stripped  of  her  banners,  but 
having  ridden  out  the  storm.  And  so,  gentlemen,  I  feel 
in  regard  to  this  aged  England,  with  the  possessions, 
honors,  and  trophies,  and  also  with  the  infirmities,  of  a 
thousand  years  gathering  around  her;  irretrievably  com 
mitted,  as  she  now  is,  to  many  old  customs  which  can 


248  EMERSON. 

not  be  suddenly  changed  ;  pressed  upon  by  the  transitions 
of  trade,  and  new  and  all  incalculable  modes,  fabrics, 
machines,  and  competing  populations.  I  see  her,  not 
dispirited,  not  weak,  but  well  remembering  that  she  has 
seen  dark  days  before ;  indeed,  with  a  kind  of  instinct 
that  she  sees  a  little  better  in  a  cloudy  day ;  and  that  in 
storm  and  calamity  she  has  a  secret  vigor,  and  a  pulse 
like  a  cannon.  I  see  her  in  her  old  age,  not  decrepit,  but 
young,  and  still  daring  to  believe  in  her  power  of  en 
durance  and  expansion. 

"Seeing  all  this,  I  say  all  hail!  mother  of  nations, 
mother  of  heroes,  with  strength  and  skill  equal  to  the 
time;  still  wise  to  entertain  and  swift  to  execute  the 
policy  which  the  mind  and  heart  of  mankind  requires  in 
the  present  hour ;  and  thus  only  hospitable  to  the  for 
eigner,  and  truly  a  home  to  the  thoughtful  and  generous 
who  are  born  on  her  soil.  So  be  it !  So  let  it  be !  If  it 
be  not  so;  if  the  courage  of  England  goes  with  the 
chances  of  a  commercial  crisis,  I  will  go  back  to  the 
capes  of  Massachusetts,  and  to  my  own  Indian  stream, 
and  say  to  my  countrymen,  '  The  old  race  are  all  gone, 
and  the  elasticity  and  hopes  of  mankind  must  henceforth 
remain  on  the  AUeghany  ranges  or  nowhere.1  " 


X. 

KEPKESENTATIVE 


IK  1850  Emerson  published  a  volume  entitled 
Representative  Men,"  which,  Mr.  Whipple  says, 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  249 

"is  a  series  of  masterly  mental  portraits,  with 
some  of  the  features  overcharged."  These  repre 
sentative  men  are:  "Plato,  the  Philosopher"; 
"Swedenborg,  the  Mystic";  "Montaigne,  the 
Skeptic";  Shakespeare,  the  Poet";  "Napoleon, 
the  Man  of  the  World" ;  and  "Goethe,  the  Wri 
ter."  The  volume  opens  with  an  introductory 
chapter  on  the  "Uses  of  Great  Men," from  which 
we  extract  a  few  passages,  taken  somewhat  out  of 
their  connection,  but  grouped  together  so  as  to 
present  some  idea  of  the  general  scope  of  the 
whole  : 

USES    OF    GEEAT   MEN. 

"  It  is  natural  to  believe  in  great  men.  If  the  com 
panions  of  our  childhood  should  turn  out  to  be  heroes, 
and  their  condition  regal,  it  would  not  surprise  us.  All 
mythology  opens  with  demigods,  and  the  circumstance 
is  high  and  poetic ;  that  is,  their  genius  is  paramount. 
Nature  seems  to  exist  for  the  excellent.  The  world  is 
upheld  by  the  veracity  of  good  men;  they  make  the 
earth  wholesome.  They  who  lived  with  them  found 
life  glad  and  nutritious.  Life  is  sweet  and  tolerable  only 
in  our  belief  in  such  society ;  and,  actually  or  ideally,  we 
manage  to  live  with  superiors. 

"  The  search  after  great  men  is  the  dream  of  youth, 
and  the  occupation  of  manhood.  We  travel  into  foreign 
parts  to  find  their  works — if  possible,  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
them ;  but  we  are  put  off  with  fortune  instead.  I  do  not 
travel  to  find  comfortable,  rich,  and  hospitable  people, 
or  clear  sky,  or  ingots  that  cost  too  much.  But  if  there 
were  any  magnet  that  would  point  to  the  countries  and 
houses  where  are  intrinsically  rich  and  powerful,  I  would 


250  EMERSON. 

sell  all  and  buy  it,  and  put  myself  on  the  road  to-day. 
The  race  goes  with  us  on  their  credit.  The  knowledge 
that  in  the  city  is  a  man  who  invented  the  railroad,  raises 
the  credit  of  all  the  citizens.  Our  religion  is  the  love 
and  cherishing  of  these  patrons.  The  gods  of  fable  are 
the  shining  monuments  of  great  men.  Our  colossal  the 
ologies  of  Judaism,  Christism,  Buddhism,  Mohammedan 
ism,  are  the  necessary  and  structural  action  of  the  hu 
man  mind.  Our  theism  is  the  purification  of  the  human 
mind." 

WHO    IS   THE   GREAT   MAN. 

"I  count  him  a  great  man  who  inhabits  a  higher 
sphere  of  thought,  into  which  other  men  rise  with  labor 
and  difficulty.  He  has  but  to  open  his  eyes  to  see  things 
in  a  true  light,  and  in  large  relations ;  while  they  must 
make  painful  corrections,  and  keep  a  vigilant  eye  on 
many  sources  of  error.  But  the  great  man  must  be  re 
lated  to  us.  I  can  not  tell  what  I  would  know  ;  but  I 
have  observed  that  there  are  persons  who,  in  their  char 
acter  and  actions,  answer  questions  which  I  have  not 
skill  to  put.  One  man  answers  some  questions  which 
none  of  his  contemporaries  put,  and  is  isolated." 

CLASSES   OF    GREAT   MEN. 

"  I  admire  great  men  of  all  classes :  those  who  stand 
for  facts  and  for  thoughts.  I  like  rough  and  smooth : 
'Scourges  of  God'  and  'Darlings  of  the  human  race.' 
I  like  the  first  Cajsars  and  Charles  the  Fifth  of  Spain, 
and  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden,  Richard  Plantage- 
net,  and  Bonaparte  in  France.  I  applaud  a  sufficient  man, 
an  officer  equal  to  his  office;  captains,  ministers,  sen 
ators.  Sword  and  staff,  or  talents  sword-like  or  staff- 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  251 

like,  carry  on  tho  work  of  the  world.  But  I  find  him 
greater  when  he  can  abolish  himself  and  all  his  heroes, 
by  letting  in  the  element  of  reason,  irrespective  of  per 
sons — this  subtilizer  and  irresistible  upward  force,  into 
our  thought — destroying  individualism ;  the  power  so 
great  that  the  potentate  is  nothing.  Then  he  is  a  mon 
arch  who  gives  a  constitution  to  his  people;  a  pontiff 
who  preaches  the  equality  of  souls,  and  releases  his  peo 
ple  from  their  barbarous  homages;  an  emperor  who  can 
share  his  empire." 

ULTIMATE    TTSE   OF    GREAT   MEN. 

"  For  a  time  our  teachers  serve  us  personally,  as 
metres  or  milestones  of  progress.  Once  they  were  angels 
of  knowledge,  and  their  figures  touched  the  sky.  Then 
we  drew  near;  saw  their  means,  culture,  and  limits; 
and  they  yielded  their  place  to  other  geniuses.  Happy, 
if  a  few  names  remain  so  high  that  we  have  not  been 
able  to  read  them  nearer ;  and  age  and  comparison  have 
not  robbed  them  of  a  ray.  But,  at  last,  we  shall  cease 
to  look  in  men  for  completeness,  and  shall  content  our 
selves  with  their  social  and  delegated  quality.  All  that 
respects  the  individual  is  temporary  and  prospective, 
like  the  individual  himself,  who  is  ascending  out  of  his 
limits  into  a  catholic  existence. 

"  We  have  never  come  at  the  true  and  best  benefits  of 
any  genius,  so  long  as  we  believe  him  an  original  force. 
In  the  moment  when  he  ceases  to  help  us  as  a  cause 
he  begins  to  help  us  more  as  an  effect ;  then  he  appears 
as  an  exponent  of  a  vaster  mind  and  will.  Yet,  within 
the  limits  of  human  education  and  agency,  we  may  say 
that  great  men  exist  that  there  may  be  greater  men. 
The  destiny  of  organized  nature  is  amelioration;  and 


252  EMERSON. 

who  can  tell  its  limits  ?  It  is  for  man  to  tame  the  chaos ; 
on  every  side,  while  he  lives,  to  scatter  the  seeds  of 
cience  and  of  song,  that  climate,  corn,  animals,  men, 
may  be  milder,  and  the  germs  of  love  and  benefit  may  be 
multiplied." 

Of  Plato,  who  heads  Emerson's  list  of  repre 
sentative  men,  he  writes  at  first  with  undiscrimi* 
nating  eulogy. 

SUPREMACY   OF   PLATO. 

"  Among  books,  Plato  only  is  entitled  to  Omar's  fa 
natical  compliment  to  the  Koran,  when  he  said,  '  Burn 
the  libraries;  for  their  value  is  in  this  book.'  These 
sentences  contain  the  culture  of  nations ;  these  are  the 
corner-stone  of  schools ;  these  are  the  fountain-head  of 
literatures.  A  discipline  is  it  in  logic,  arithmetic,  taste, 
symmetry,  poetry,  languages,  rhetoric,  ontology,  morals, 
or  practical  wisdom.  There  never  was  such  range  of 
speculation.  Out  of  Plato  come  all  things  that  are  still 
written  and  debated  among  men  of  thought.  Great 
havoc  makes  he  among  our  originalities.  We  have 
reached  the  mountain  from  which  all  these  drift-bowl 
ders  were  detached.  For  it  is  fair  to  credit  the  broadest 
generalizer  with  all  the  particulars  deducible  from  his 
genius. 

"  Plato  is  philosophy,  and  philosophy  Plato — at  once 
the  glory  and  the  shame  of  mankind,  since  neither  Saxon 
nor  Roman  have  availed  to  add  any  idea  to  his  catego 
ries.  No  wife,  no  children  has  he ;  and  the  thinkers  of 
all  civilized  nations  are  his  posterity,  and  are  tinged  with 
his  mind.  How  many  great  men  Nature  is  incessantly 
sending  up  out  of  night  to  be  his  men — Platonists !  The 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  253 

Alexandrians,  a  constellation  of  genius;  the  Elizabeth 
ans,  not  less;  Sir  Thomas  More,  Henry  More,  John 
Hales,  John  Smith,  Francis  Bacon,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Ralph 
Cudvvorth,  Sydenham,  Thomas  Taylor,  Marcilius  Ficinus, 
and  Picus  Mirandola.  Calvinism  is  in  his  '  Phsedo  ' ; 
Christianity  is  in  it.  Mohammedanism  draws  all  its 
philosophy,  in  its  hand-hook  of  morals— the  Akhlak-y- 
Jalaly—trom  him.  Mysticism  finds  in  Plato  all  its  texts. 
The  citizen  of  a  town  in  Greece  is  no  villager  nor  patriot. 
An  Englishman  reads,  and  says,  *  How  English ! '  a 
German,  'How  Teutonic!'  an  Italian,  'How  Roman 
and  how  Greek ! '  As  they  say  that  Helen  of  Argos  had 
that  universal  beauty  that  everybody  felt  related  to  her, 
so  Plato  seems,  to  a  reader  in  New  England,  an  Ameri 
can  genius.  His  broad  humanity  transcends  all  sectional 
lines." 

This  broad  statement  is  illustrated  under  a 
variety  of  forms.  Thus  : 

ORIGINALITY    OF    PLATO. 

"  Plato,  likfc  every  great  man,  consumed  his  own  times. 
What  is  a  great  man  but  one  of  great  affinities,  who  takes 
up  into  himself  all  arts,  all  sciences,  all  knowables,  as  his 
food.  He  can  spare  nothing ;  he  can  dispose  of  every 
thing.  What  is  not  good  for  virtue  is  good  for  knowl 
edge.  Hence  his  contemporaries  tax  him  with  plagia 
rism.  But  the  inventor  only  knows  how  to  borrow ;  and 
society  is  glad  to  forget  the  innumerable  laborers  who 
ministered  to  this  architect,  and  reserves  all  its  gratitude 
for  him.  When  we  are  praising  Plato  we  are  praising 
quotations  from  Solon  and  Sophron  and  Philolaus.  Be 
it  so.  Every  book  is  a  quotation;  and  every  house  is  a 


254  EMERSON. 

quotation  from  all  forests  and  mines  and  stone-quarries ; 
and  every  man  is  a  quotation  from  all  his  ancestors. 
And  this  grasping  inventor  puts  all  nations  under  con 
tribution." 

UNIVERSALITY    OF    PLATO. 

"Plato  absorbed  the  learning  of  his  times — Philolaus, 
Timasus,  Heraclites,  Parmenides,  and  what  else;  then 
his  master,  Socrates;  and  finding  himself  still  capable 
of  a  larger  synthesis — beyond  all  example  then  or  since 
— he  traveled  into  Italy  to  gain  what  Pythagoras  had  for 
him ;  then  into  Egypt,  and  perhaps  still  farther  east  to 
import  the  other  element,  which  Europe  wanted,  into 
the  European  mind.  This  breadth  entitles  him  to  stand 
as  the  representative  of  philosophy.  Every  man  who 
would  do  anything  well  must  come  to  it  from  a  higher 
ground.  A  philosopher  must  be  more  than  a  phi 
losopher.  Plato  is  clothed  with  the  powers  of  a  poet, 
stands  upon  the  highest  place  of  a  poet,  and  (though  I 
doubt  he  wanted  the  decisive  gift  of  lyric  expression) 
mainly  is  not  a  poet  because  he  chose  to  use  the  poetic 
gift  to  an  ulterior  purpose." 

PLATO'S  ECLECTICISM. 

"  Plato,  in  Egypt  and  in  Eastern  pilgrimages,  imbibed 
the  idea  of  One  Deity,  in  which  all  are  absorbed.  The 
unity  of  Asia  and  the  detail  of  Europe ;  the  infinitude  of 
the  Asiatic  soul,  and  the  defining,  result-loving,  machine- 
making,  surface-seeking,  opera-going  Europe.  Plato 
came  to  join,  and,  by  contrast,  to  enhance  the  energy 
of  both.  The  excellence  of  Europe  and  Asia  is  in  his 
brain.  Metaphysics  and  natural  philosophy  expressed 
the  genius  of  Europe ;  he  substructs  the  religion  of  Asia 
as  its  base. 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  355 

"If  he  loved  abstract  truth,  he  saved  himself  by  pro 
pounding  the  most  popular  of  all  principles— the  absolute 
good,  which  rules  rulers,  and  judges  the  judge.  If  he 
made  transcendental  distinctions,  he  fortified  himself  by 
drawing  his  illustrations  from  sources  disdained  by  ora 
tors  and  polite  conversers— from  mares  and  puppies, 
from  pitchers  and  soup-ladles,  from  cooks  and  criers; 
the  shops  of  potters,  horse-doctors,  butchers,  and  fish 
mongers. 

"Thought  seeks  to  know  unity  in  unity;  poetry,  to 
show  it  in  variety;  that  is,  always  by  an  object  or  a 
symbol.  Plato  keeps  the  two  vases,  one  of  aether  and 
one  of  pigment,  at  his  side,  and  invariably  uses  both. 
Things  added  to  things — as  statistics,  civil  history — are 
inventories.  Things  used  as  language  are  inexhaustibly 
attractive.  Plato  turns  incessantly  the  obverse  and  the 
reverse  of  the  medal  of  Jove." 

PLATO'S  OENTBAL  DOOTEINE. 

"To  take  an  example:  The  physical  philosophers 
had  sketched  each  his  theory  of  the  world ;  the  theory 
of  atoms,  of  fire,  of  flux,  of  spirit — theories  mechanical 
and  chemical  in  their  genius.  Plato,  a  master  of  mathe 
matics,  and  studious  of  all  natural  laws  and  causes,  feels 
these,  as  second  causes,  to  be  no  theories  of  the  world, 
but  bare  inventories  and  lists.  To  the  study  of  Nature 
he  therefore  prefixes  the  dogma:  'Let  us  declare  the 
cause  which  led  the  Supreme  Ordainer  to  produce  and 
compose  the  universe.  He  was  good,  and  he  who  is 
good  feels  no  kind  of  envy.  Exempt  from  envy,  he 
wished  that  all  things  should  be  as  much  as  possible 
like  himself.  Whosoever,  taught  by  wise  men,  shall 
admit  this  as  the  prime  cause  of  the  origin  and  founda- 


256  EMERSON, 

tion  of  the  world,  will  be  in  the  truth.  .  .  .  All  things 
are  for  the  sake  of  the  good,  and  it  is  the  cause  of  every 
thing  beautiful.7  This  dogma  animates  and  impersonates 
his  philosophy." 

But,  after  all,  Emerson  admits  that  there 
were  grave  defects  in  Plato  as  a  teacher ;  and 
these  are  just  the  ones  which  the  warmest  Emer 
sonian  must  find  in  Emerson  : 

ONE   DEFECT   IN   PLATO. 

"  It  remains  to  say,  that  the  defect  of  Plato  in  power 
is  only  that  which  results  inevitably  from  his  quality. 
He  is  intellectual  in  his  aim,  and  therefore,  in  his  ex 
pression,  literary.  Mounting  into  heaven,  diving  into 
the  pit,  expounding  the  laws  of  the  state,  the  passion  of 
love,  the  remorse  of  crime,  the  hope  of  the  parting  soul 
— he  is  literary,  and  never  otherwise.  It  is  almost  the 
sole  deduction  from  the  merit  of  Plato  that  his  writings 
have  not — which  is,  no  doubt,  incident  to  this  pregnancy 
of  intellect  in  his  work — the  vital  authority  which  the 
screams  of  prophets  and  the  sermons  of  unlettered  Arabs 
and  Jews  possess.  There  is  an  interval ;  and  to  cohesion 
contact  is  necessary.  I  know  not  what  can  be  said  in 
reply  to  this  criticism,  but  that  we  have  come  to  a  fact 
in  the  nature  of  things :  An  oak  is  not  an  orange ;  the 
qualities  of  sugar  remain  with  sugar,  and  those  of  salt 
with  salt." 

A    SECOND    DEFECT. 

"In  the  second  place,  he  has  not  a  system.  The 
dearest  defenders  and  disciples  are  at  fault.  He  at 
tempted  a  theory  of  the  universe,  and  his  theory  is  not 
complete  or  self-evident.  One  man  thinks  he  meant 
this ;  and  another,  that.  He  has  said  one  thing  in  one 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  257 

place,  and  the  reverse  of  it  in  another  place.  He  is 
charged  with  having  failed  to  make  the  transition  from 
ideas  to  matter.  Here  is  the  world,  sound  as  a  nut,  per 
fect,  not  the  smallest  piece  of  chaos  left ;  never  a  stitch 
nor  an  end ;  not  a  mark  of  haste  or  botching,  or  second- 
thought  ;  but  the  theory  of  the  world  is  a  thing  of  threads 
and  patches." 

A    THIED    DEFECT. 

"  The  longest  wave  is  quickly  lost  in  the  sea.  Plato 
would  willingly  have  a  Platonism — a  known  and  accurate 
expression  for  the  world — and  it  should  be  accurate.  It 
shall  be  the  world  passed  through  the  mind  of  Plato — 
nothing  less.  Every  atom  shall  have  the  Platonic  tinge ; 
every  atom,  every  relation  or  quality  you  knew  before, 
you  shall  know  again,  and  find  here  new  ordered ;  not 
Nature,  but  Art.  And  you  shall  feel  that  Alexander  in 
deed  overran  with  men  and  horses  some  countries  of  the 
planet ;  but  the  countries  and  things  of  which  countries 
are  made — elements,  planets  themselves,  laws  of  planet 
and  of  men — have  passed  through  this  man  as  bread  into 
his  body ;  so  all  this  mammoth  morsel  has  become  Plato. 
He  has  clapped  copyright  on  the  world.  But  the  mouth 
ful  proves  too  large.  Boa  Constrictor  has  good  will  to 
eat,  but  he  is  foiled.  He  falls  abroad  in  the  attempt,  and, 
biting,  gets  strangled.  The  bitten  world  holds  the  biter 
fast  by  his  own  teeth.  There  he  perishes ;  unconquered 
Nature  lives  on  and  forgets  him.  So  it  fares  with  all ; 
so  must  it  fare  with  Plato.  In  view  of  external  nature, 
Plato  turns  out  to  be  philosophical  exercitations.  He 
argues  on  this  side  and  on  that.  The  acutest  German, 
the  lovingest  disciple,  could  never  tell  what  Platonism 
was.  Indeed,  admirable  texts  can  be  quoted  on  both 
sides  of  every  great  question  from  him." 
17 


258  EMERSON. 

PLATO    SUMMED    TIP. 

"  These  things  we  are  forced  to  say,  if  we  must  con 
sider  the  effort  of  Plato,  or  of  any  philosopher,  to  dispose 
of  Nature — which  will  not  be  disposed  of.  No  power  of 
genius  has  yet  had  the  smallest  success  in  explaining  ex 
istence.  The  perfect  enigma  remains.  But  there  is  an 
injustice  in  assuming  this  ambition  for  Plato.  Let  us 
not  seem  to  treat  with  flippancy  his  venerable  name. 
Men,  in  proportion  to  their  intellect,  have  admitted  his 
transcendent  claims.  The  way  to  know  him  is  to  com 
pare  him  not  with  Nature,  but  with  others.  How  many 
ages  have  gone  by,  and  he  remains  unapproached !  " 

In  a  brief  supplementary  chapter,  entitled 
"  Plato,  New  Headings, "  Emerson  reiterates  and 
enlarges  upon  some  of  the  points  before  treated, 
but  closes  with  this  depreciatory  remark  :  "  In  his 
eighth  book  of  the  '  Republic '  he  throws  a  little 
mathematical  dust  in  our  eyes.  I  am  sorry  to  see 
him,  after  such  noble  superiorities,  permitting  the 
lie  to  governors.  Plato  plays  Providence  a  little 
with  the  baser  sort,  as  people  allow  themselves 
with  their  dogs  and  cats." 

SWEDENBOBG,  THE   MYSTIC. 

Second  in  Emerson's  Category  of  Representa 
tive  Men  stands  the  name  of  Emanuel  Sweden- 
borg,  "  the  mystic."  He  prefaces  his  special  con 
sideration  of  this  man  by  speaking  of  certain  broad 
types  of  thinking  men  who  are  not  "  what  the 
world  calls  producers.  They  have  nothing  in 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  359 

their  hands ;  they  have  not  cultivated  corn  nor 
made  bread  ;  they  have  not  led  out  a  colony  nor 
invented  a  loom."  But  still  higher  "in  the  es 
timation  and  love  of  this  city-building,  market- 
going  race  of  mankind  are  the  poets,  who  from 
the  intellectual  kingdom  feed  the  thought  and 
the  imagination  with  ideas  and  pictures  which 
raise  men  out  of  the  world  of  coin  and  money, 
and  console  them  for  the  shortcomings  of  the  day, 
and  meanness  of  labor  and  traffic."  Then  also  is 
the  philosopher,  "  who  natters  the  intellect  of  this 
laborer  by  engaging  him  with  subtleties  which 
instruct  him  in  new  faculties ;  others  may  build 
cities,  he  is  to  understand  them  and  keep  them  in 
awe."  But,  he  adds,  "There  is  a  class  who  lead 
us  into  another  region — the  world  of  morals  or  of 
will.  What  is  singular  about  this  region  of 
thought  is  its  claim.  Wherever  the  sentiment 
of  right  comes  in,  it  takes  precedence  of  every 
thing  else.  For  other  things,  I  make  poetry  of 
them  ;  but  the  moral  sentiment  makes  poetry  of 
me. "  This  last  class  of  men  are  the  mystics.  In 
a  certain  sense,  Emerson  seems  to  include  Moses 
and  Menu,  Jesus  and  Mohammed,  among  the 
mystics.  Of  mysticism  in  general  he  thus 


ON    MYSTICISM. 


"The  path  is  difficult,  secret,  and  beset  with  terror. 
The  ancients  called  it  ecstasy  or  '  absence '—  a  getting  out 
of  their  bodies  to  think.  All  religious  history  contains 


260  EMERSON. 

traces  of  the  trance  of  saints — a  beatitude,  but  without 
any  sign  of  joy ;  earnest,  solitary,  even  sad.  '  The  flight,' 
Plotinus  called  it,  of  the  Alone  to  the  Alone  ;  pieces,  the 
'closing  of  the  eyes,'  whence  our  word  'mystic.'  The 
trances  of  Socrates,  Plotinus,  Porphyry,  Behmen,  Bun- 
yan,  Fox,  Pascal,  Guyon,  Swedenborg,  will  readily  come 
to  the  mind.  But  what  as  readily  comes  to  the  mind  is 
the  accompaniment  of  disease.  This  beatitude  comes  in 
terror  and  with  shock  to  the  mind  of  the  receiver.  '  It 
o'erinforms  the  tenement  of  clay,'  and  drives  the  man 
mad;  or  gives  a  certain  violent  bias,  which  taints  his 
judgment.  In  the  chief  examples  of  religious  illumina 
tion  somewhat  morbid  has  mingled,  in  spite  of  the  un 
questionable  increase  of  mental  power.  Must  the  high 
est  good  drag  after  it  a  quality  which  neutralizes  and 
discredits  it?  Shall  we  say  that  the  economical  mother 
disburses  so  much  earth  and  so  much  fire  by  weight  and 
metre  to  make  a  man,  and  will  not  add  a  pennyweight, 
though  a  nation  is  perishing  for  a  leader  ?  Therefore, 
the  men  of  God  purchased  their  science  by  folly  or  pain. 
If  you  will  have  pure  carbon,  carbuncle,  or  diamond,  to 
make  the  brain  transparent,  the  trunk  and  organs  shall 
be  so  much  the  grosser :  instead  of  porcelain,  they  are 
potter's  earth,  clay,  or  mud." 

EMANUEL    8WEDENBOEQ. 

"In  modern  times  no  such  remarkable  example  of 
this  introverted  mind  has  occurred  as  in  Emanuel  Swe 
denborg,  born  in  Stockholm,  in  1688.  This  man,  who 
appeared  to  his  contemporaries  a  visionary,  and  elixir  of 
moonbeams,  no  doubt  led  the  most  real  life  of  any  man 
then  in  the  world.  And  now,  when  the  royal  and  ducal 
Fredericks,  Christierns,  and  Brunswicks  of  that  day  have 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  261 

slid  into  oblivion,  he  begins  to  spread  himself  into  the 
minds  of  thousands.  As  happens  in  great  men,  he 
seemed,  by  the  variety  and  extent  of  his  powers,  to  be 
a  composition  of  several  persons,  like  the  giant  fruits 
which  are  matured  in  our  gardens  by  a  composition  of 
several  blossoms.  His  frame  is  on  a  large  scale,  and  pos 
sesses  the  advantage  of  size.  As  it  is  easier  to  see  the 
reflection  of  the  great  sphere  in  large  globes,  though  de 
faced  by  some  crack  or  blemish,  than  in  drops  of  water, 
so  men  of  large  caliber,  though  with  some  eccentricity  or 
madness,  like  Pascal  or  Newton,  help  us  more  than  ordi 
nary,  balanced  minds." 

Emerson  states  briefly  the  main  outward  facts 
in  the  life  of  Swedenborg ;  tells  how  the  devotion 
of  his  youth  and  manhood,  down  to  far  beyond 
middle  life,  was  paid  to  physical  science  ;  how  he 
"  goes  grubbing  into  mines  and  mountains,  pry 
ing  into  chemistry,  optics,  physiology,  mathema 
tics,  astronomy,  and  theology "  ;  how  he  antici 
pated  much  of  the  science  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  as  in  astronomy,  magnetism,  chemistry, 
and  anatomy.  "But  in  1743,  when  he  was  fifty- 
four  years  old,  what  is  called  his  '  Illumination ' 
began.  All  his  metallurgy  and  transportation  of 
vessels  overland  was  absorbed  into  this  ecstasy. 
He  ceased  to  publish  any  more  scientific  books, 
and  devoted  himself  to  the  writing  and  publica 
tion  of  his  voluminous  theological  works."  He 
was  held  in  high  esteem  by  men  of  all  classes  and 
orders — men  of  science  and  learning  perhaps  ex- 


262  EMERSON. 

cepted — and  died  of  apoplexy  in  London,  in  his 
eighty-fifth  year. 

THE    GENIUS    OF    8WEDENBOBG. 

"The  genius  which  was  to  penetrate  the  science  of 
the  age  with  a  far  more  subtle  science ;  to  pass  the 
bounds  of  space  and  time ;  venture  into  the  dim  Spirit- 
realm,  and  attempt  to  establish  a  new  religion  in  the 
world,  began  its  lessons  in  quarries  and  forges,  in  the 
smelting-pot  and  crucible,  in  ship-yards  and  dissecting- 
rooms.  No  one  man  is  perhaps  able  to  judge  of  the  mer 
its  of  his  work  on  so  many  subjects.  One  is  glad  to 
learn  that  his  books  on  mines  and  metals  are  held  in  the 
highest  esteem  by  those  who  understand  such  matters." 

HIS   UNIVERSALITY    AND   UNITY. 

"  A  colossal  soul,  he  lies  vast  abroad  on  his  times, 
uncomprehended  by  them,  and  requires  a  long  focal  dis 
tance  to  be  seen;  suggests,  as  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Selden, 
Humboldt,  that  a  certain  vastness  of  learning,  or  quasi- 
omnipotence  of  the  human  soul  in  Nature  is  possible. 
His  superb  speculation,  as  from  a  tower  over  Nature  and 
Arts,  without  ever  losing  sight  of  the  texture  and  se 
quence  of  things,  almost  realizes  his  own  picture  in  his 
'  Principia,'  of  the  original  integrity  of  man.  One  of  the 
missouriums  and  mastodons  of  literature,  he  is  not  to  be 
measured  by  whole  colleges  of  ordinary  scholars.  Our 
books  are  false  by  being  fragmentary ;  their  sentences 
are  Ion  mots,  and  not  parts  of  natural  discourse  ;  childish 
expressions  of  surprise  or  pleasure  in  Nature  ;  or,  worse, 
owing  a  brief  notoriety  to  their  petulance,  or  aversion 
from  the  order  of  Nature,  and  purposely  framed  to  ex 
cite  surprise,  as  jugglers  do  by  concealing  their  means. 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  263 

But  Swedenborg  is  systematic,  and  respective  of  the 
world  in  every  sentence.  All  the  means  are  orderly 
given ;  his  faculties  work  with  astronomic  punctuality ; 
and  this  admirable  writing  is  pure  from  all  pertness  and 
egotism." 

SOME  OF  SWEDENBOKG'S  TEACHINGS. 

u  Swedenborg  was  born  into  an  atmosphere  of  great 
ideas.  The  thoughts  in  which  he  lived  were  the  univer 
sality  of  each  law  of  Nature ;  the  Platonic  doctrine  of 
the  scale  or  degrees ;  the  version  or  conversion  of  each 
into  the  other,  and  so  the  correspondence  of  all  the  parts ; 
the  fine  secret  that  little  explains  large,  and  large,  little ; 
the  central! ty  of  man  in  Nature,  and  the  connection  that 
exists  in  all  things.  He  saw  that  the  human  body  was 
strictly  universal,  or  an  instrument  through  which  the 
soul  feeds,  and  is  fed  by  the  whole  of  matter;  so  that 
he  held,  in  exact  antagonism  to  the  Skeptics,  that  '  the 
wiser  a  man  is,  the  more  will  he  be  a  worshiper  of  the 
Deity.'  In  short,  he  was  a  believer  in  the  identity- 
philosophy,  which  he  held  not  idly,  as  the  dreamers  of 
Berlin  and  Boston,  but  which  he  experimented  with, 
and  established  through  years  of  labor,  with  the  heart 
and  strength  of  the  rudest  Viking  that  his  rough  Sweden 
ever  sent  to  battle.  This  theory  dates  from  the  oldest 
philosophers  and  derives,  perhaps,  its  best  illustration 
from  the  newest.  It  is  this :  That  Nature  iterates  her 
means  perpetually  on  successive  planes.  In  the  old 
aphorism,  Nature  is  always  self-similar" 

Emerson  illustrates  this  theory  from  several 
operations  of  Nature.  Thus  :  "In  the  plant,  the 
'eye/  or  germinating  point,  opens  to  a  leaf,  then 
to  another  leaf,  with  the  power  of  transforming 


264  EMERSON. 

the  leaf  into  radicle,  stamen,  pistil,  petal,  bract, 
sepal,  or  seed.  The  whole  art  of  the  plant  is  still 
to  repeat  leaf  on  leaf  without  end ;  the  more 
or  less  of  heat,  light,  moisture,  and  food  deter 
mining  the  form  it  shall  assume. "  So,  too,  in  the 
animal  creation.  "  In  the  animal,  Nature  makes 
a  vertebrae,  or  a  spine  of  vertebras,  and  helps  her 
self  still  more  by  a  new  spine,  with  a  limited  power 
of  modifying  its  form — spine  on  spine  to  the  end 
of  the  world." 

Emerson  insists  that  the  same  general  law^ 
holds  in  the  complex  physical  and  intellectual 
constitution  of  man  :  "  Nature  recites  her  lessons 
once  more  in  a  higher  mood.  The  mind  is  a  finer 
body,  and  resumes  its  functions  of  feeding,  digest 
ing,  absorbing,  excluding,  and  generating,  in  a 
new  and  ethical  element.  Here,  in  the  brain,  is 
all  the  process  of  alimentation  repeated,  in  the 
acquiring,  composing,  digesting,  and  assimilating 
of  experience.  Here,  again,  is  the  mystery  of 
generation  repeated.  In  the  brain  are  the  male 
and  female  faculties ;  here  is  marriage,  here  is 
fruit.  And  there  is  no  limit  to  this  ascending 
scale,  but  series  on  series.  Everything,  at  the  end 
of  one  use,  is  taken  up  into  the  next,  each  series 
punctually  repeating  every  organ  and  process  of 
the  last.  We  are  adapted  to  infinity,  and  love 
nothing  which  ends  ;  and  in  Nature  is  no  end ; 
but  everything  at  the  end  of  one  use  is  lifted  into 
a  superior  ;  and  the  ascent  of  these  things  climbs 


REPKESENTATIVE   MEN.  265 

into  demoniac  and  celestial  natures.  Creative 
force,  like  a  musical  composer,  goes  on  unwea- 
riedly  repeating  a  simple  air  or  theme,  now  high, 
now  low,  in  solo,  in  chorus,  ten  thousand  times 
reverberated,  till  it  fills  earth  and  heaven  with 
the  chant."  In  this  comment  upon  the  philoso 
phy  of  Swedenborg  we  think  that  Emerson  has 
made  the  largest  of  what  Mr.  Whipple  styles 
his  "fragmentary  contributions  to  the  Philosophy 
of  the  Infinite." 

Still  Emerson  makes  many  grave  objections 
to  the  philosophy  of  Swedenborg,  as  he  had  done 
to  that  of  Plato.  We  cite  some  of  these  objec 
tions,  retaining  his  own  words,  but  with  many 
omissions : 


DEFECTS   IN    SWEDENBOEG's    PHILOSOPHY. 

"  In  the  '  Conjugal  Love,'  he  has  unfolded  the  science 
of  marriage.  Of  this  book  one  would  say  that,  with  the 
highest  elements,  it  has  failed  of  success.  It  came  near 
to  be  the  hymn  of  love  which  Plato  attempted  in  '  The 
Banquet';  the  love  which,  Dante  says,  Oasella  sang 
among  the  angels  in  paradise.  The  book  had  been  grand 
if  the  Hebraism  had  been  omitted,  and  the  laws  stated 
without  Gothicism,  as  ethics,  and  with  that  scope  for 
ascension  of  state  which  the  nature  of  things  requires. 
Yet  Swedenborg,  after  his  mode,  pinned  his  theory  to  a 
temporary  form.  He  exaggerates  the  circumstances  of 
marriage ;  and,  though  he  finds  false  marriages  on  earth, 
fancies  a  wiser  choice  in  heaven." 


266  EMERSON. 

HEAVEN   AND   HELL. 

"  In  his  '  Animal  Kingdom '  be  surprised  us  by  de 
claring  that  he  loved  analysis  and  not  synthesis;  and 
now,  after  his  fiftieth  year,  he  falls  into  jealousy  of  his 
intellect ;  makes  war  on  his  mind ;  takes  the  part  of 
conscience  against  it ;  and  on  all  occasions  traduces  and 
blasphemes  it.  He  was  wise,  but  wise  in  his  own  despite. 
There  is  an  air  of  infinite  grief,  and  infinite  wailing,  all 
over  and  through  this  lurid  universe.  A  bird  does  not 
more  readily  weave  its  nest,  or  a  mole  bore  into  the 
ground,  than  this  sea  of  souls  substructs  a  new  hell  and 
pit,  each  more  abominable  than  the  last,  round  every  new 
crew  of  offenders.  He  was  let  down  through  a  column 
that  seemed  of  brass— but  it  was  "formed  of  angelic  spirits 
— that  he  might  descend  safely  among  the  unhappy,  and 
witness  the  devastation  of  souls.  He  saw  the  hell  of  jug 
glers  ;  the  hell  of  assassins  ;  the  hell  of  robbers,  who  kill 
and  boil  men ;  the  infernal  tun  of  the  deceitful ;  the  ex- 
crementitious  hells;  the  hell  of  the  revengeful,  whose 
faces  resembled  a  round,  broad  cake,  and  their  arms  ro 
tate  like  a  wheel.  Except  Rabelais  and  Swift,  nobody 
ever  had  such  a  science  of  filth  and  corruption. 

"These  books  should  be  used  with  caution.  It  is 
dangerous  to  sculpture  these  effervescent  images  of 
thought.  True  in  transition,  they  become  false  if  fixed. 
It  requires,  for  his  just  apprehension,  almost  a  genius 
equal  to  his  own.  But  when  his  visions  become  the 
stereotyped  language  of  multitudes  of  persons  of  all  de 
grees  of  age  and  capacity,  they  are  perverted.  An  ar 
dent  and  contemplative  young  man  of  eighteen  or  twenty 
years  might  read  once  these  books  of  Swedenborg — these 
mysteries  of  love  and  conscience — and  then  throw  them 
aside  forever." 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  267 

And  much  more  to  the  same  general  pur 
port,  if  not  quite  so  strongly  expressed.  Of 
Swedenborg's  so-called  "Revelations,"  Emerson 
speaks  with  not  a  little  contempt : 

SWEDENBOKG'S  REVELATIONS. 

"  For  the  anomalous  pretension  of  revelations  of  the 
other  world, only  Ms  probity  and  genius  can  entitle  it  to 
any  serious  regard.  His  revelations  destroy  their  credit 
by  running  into  detail.  If  a  man  say  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
has  informed  him  that  the  last  judgment  (or  the  last  of 
the  judgments)  took  place  in  1757,  or  that  the  Dutch  in 
the  other  world  live  in  a  heaven  by  themselves — I  reply 
that  the  spirit,  which  is  holy,  is  reserved,  taciturn,  and 
deals  in  laws.  The  rumors  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins 
gossip  and  tell  fortunes ;  the  teachings  of  the  high  spirit 
are  abstemious,  and,  in  regard  to  particulars,  negative. 
Socrates's  genius  did  not  advise  him  to  act  or  to  find ; 
but,  if  he  purposed  to  do  somewhat  not  advantageous, 
it  dissuaded  him.  '  What  God  is,'  he  said,  '  I  know  not ; 
what  he  is  not,  I  know.'  The  Hindoos  have  denomin 
ated  the  Supreme  Being  the  '  Internal  Check.'  The  illu 
minated  Quakers  explained  their  light,  not  as  somewhat 
which  leads  to  any  action,  but  it  appears  as  an  obstruc 
tion  to  anything  unfit.  The  secret  of  heaven  is  kept 
from  age  to  age.  No  imprudent,  no  sociable  angel, 
ever  dropped  an  early  syllable  to  answer  the  longings  of 
saints,  the  fears  of  mortals.  Behmen  is  healthily  and 
beautifully  wise,  notwithstanding  the  mystical  narrow 
ness  and  incommunicableness.  Swedenborg  is  disagree 
ably  wise,  and,  with  all  his  accumulated  gifts,  paralyzes 
and  repels." 


268  EMERSON. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  these  manifold  ob 
jections,  which  to  our  mind — assuming  them  to 
be  well-founded — seem  conclusive,  Emerson,  in 
conclusion,  awards  to  Swedenborg  a  high  place 
not  merely  among  the  representative  men,  but 
among  the  representatives  of  good  and  wise  men 
— at  least,  after  a  fashion  : 

FINAL   ESTIMATE    OF    SWEDENBOEG. 

"  His  books  have  no  melody,  no  emotion,  no  humor, 
no  relief  to  the  dead,  prosaic  level.  The  entire  want  of 
poetry  in  so  transcendent  a  mind  betokens  the  disease  ; 
and,  like  a  hoarse  voice  in  a  beautiful  person,  is  a  kind 
of  warning.  I  think  sometimes  he  will  not  be  read  long 
er.  His  great  name  will  turn  a  sentence.  His  books 
have  become  a  monument.  His  laurel  is  so  largely 
mixed  with  cypress,  a  charnel-breath  so  mingles  with 
the  temple  incense,  that  boys  and  maidens  will  shun  the 
spot. 

"  Yet  in  this  immolation  of  genius  and  fame  at  the 
shrine  of  conscience  is  a  merit  sublime  beyond  praise. 
He  lived  to  purpose;  he  gave  a  verdict.  He  elected 
goodness  as  the  clew  to  which  the  soul  must  cling  in  all 
this  labyrinth  of  Nature.  I  think  of  him  as  of  some 
transmigrating  votary  of  Indian  legend,  who  says, 
'Though  I  be  dog,  or  jackal,  or  pismire  in  the  last 
rudiments  of  nature,  under  what  integument  or  ferocity, 
I  cleave  to  right  as  a  sure  ladder  that  leads  up  to  man 
and  to  God.' 

"  Swedenborg  has  rendered  a  double  service  to  man 
kind,  which  is  now  only  beginning  to  be  known.  By 
the  science  of  experiment  and  use  he  made  his  first 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  269 

steps.  He  observed  and  published  the  laws  of  nature, 
and,  ascending  by  just  degrees  from  events  to  their  sum 
mits  and  causes,  he  was  fired  with  piety  at  the  harmo 
nies  he  felt,  and  abandoned  himself  to  their  joys  and 
worship.  This  was  his  first  service.  If  the  glory  was 
too  bright  for  his  eyes  to  bear,  if  he  staggered  under  the 
trance  of  delight,  the  more  excellent  is  the  spectacle  ho 
saw — the  realities  of  Being  which  beam  and  blaze 
through  him,  and  which  no  infirmities  of  the  prophet 
are  suffered  to  obscure;  and  he  renders  a  second  pas 
sive  service  to  men  not  less  than  the  first — perhaps,  in 
the  great  circle  of  being,  and  in  the  retribution  of  spirit 
ual  Nature,  not  less  glorious  or  less  beautiful  to  himself." 

MONTAIGNE,    THE   SKEPTIC. 

We  need  not  dwell  upon  what  Emerson  has  to 
say  of  Shakespeare,  or  Napoleon,  or  Goethe.  But 
a  little  space  must  be  given  to  Montaigne,  "the 
skeptic."  Skepticism,  in  Emerson's  vocabulary, 
is  "  not  at  all  unbelief  ;  not  at  all  universal  doubt 
ing — doubting  even  that  one  doubts  ;  least  of  all, 
scoffing  and  profligate  jeering  at  all  that  is  stable 
and  good."  The  skeptic  is  the  considerer,  the, 
prudent — taking  in  sail,  counting  stock,  husband-4 
ing  his  means,  and  combining  in  himself  manyl 
admirable  qualities.  He  says  that  all  these  quali 
ties  meet  in  Montaigne.  He  avows  a  great  per 
sonal  regard  for  the  admirable  gossip  of  the  skep 
tic,  and  tells  how  it  began  and  grew  : 

"  A  single  odd  volume  of  Cotton's  translations  of  the 
essays  remained  to  me  from  my  father's  library  when  a 


270  EMERSON. 

boy.  It  lay  long  neglected  until,  after  many  years,  when 
I  was  newly  escaped  from  college,  I  read  the  book,  and 
procured  the  remaining  volumes.  I  remember  the  de 
light  and  wonder  in  which J  lived  with  it.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  myself  written  the  book  in  some  former 
life,  so  sincerely  it  spoke  to  my  thought  and  experi- 


Certainly  many  men  of  very  diverse  natures 
have  been  great  admirers  of  Montaigne.  In  the 
cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  Emerson  came  upon 
the  monument  of  Auguste  Collignon,  upon  which 
was  inscribed  that  "he  lived  to  do  right,  and  had 
formed  himself  to  virtue  on  the  essays  of  Mon 
taigne."  John  Sterling,  from  love  to  Montaigne, 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  his  chateau,  and  copied 
from  the  walls  of  the  library  the  inscriptions 
which  Montaigne  had  written  there  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  before.  One  of  the  autographs  of 
Shakespeare  is  in  a  copy  of  Morio's  translation  of 
Montaigne,  which  is  the  only  existing  book  posi 
tively  known  to  have  been  in  the  possession  of 
Shakespeare.  Another  copy  of  this  same  trans 
lation  contains  on  the  fly-leaf  the  autograph  of 
Ben  Jonson.  The  only  great  writer  of  modern 
times  that  Byron  read  with  avowed  satisfaction 
was  Montaigne.  And  Gibbon  says  that,  in  the 
bigoted  times  in  which  Montaigne  lived,  he  and 
Henry  IV  were  the  only  liberal  men  in  France. 
Emerson  thus  characterizes  these  essays  of  Mon 
taigne  : 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  271 

MONTAIGNE'S  ESSAYS. 

"  Montaigne  is  the  freest  and  honestest  of  all  writers. 
His  French  freedom  runs  into  grossness,  but  he  has  an 
ticipated  all  censure  by  the  bounty  of  his  confessions. 
In  his  times  books  were  written  to  one  sex  only,  and  al 
most  all  were  written  in  Latin ;  so  that,  in  a  humorist, 
a  certain  nakedness  of  statement  was  permitted,  which 
our  manners,  of  a  literature  addressed  equally  to  botli 
sexes,  do  not  allow.  But  though  a  biblical  plainness, 
coupled  with  a  most  uncanonical  levity,  may  shut  his 
pages  to  many  sensitive  readers,  yet  the  offense  is  super 
ficial.  He  parades  it ;  he  makes  the  most  of  it ;  nobody 
can  think  or  say  worse  of  him  than  he  does.  He  pre 
tends  to  most  of  the  vices ;  and,  if  there  be  any  virtue  in 
him,  he  says  it  got  in  by  stealth.  There  is  no  man,  in 
his  opinion,  who  has  not  deserved  hanging  five  or  six 
times ;  and  he  pretends  to  no  exception  in  his  own  be 
half.  '  Five  or  six  as  ridiculous  stories,'  he  says,  '  can  be 
told  of  me  as  of  any  man  living.  .  .  .  When  I  the  most 
religiously  confess  myself,  I  find  that  the  best  virtue  I 
have  has  in  it  some  tincture  of  vice ;  and  I  am  afraid 
that  Plato,  in  his  purest  virtue,  if  he  had  listened  and 
laid  his  ear  close  to  himself,  would  have  heard  some  jar 
ring  sound  of  human  mixture,  but  faint  and  remote,  and 
only  to  be  perceived  by  himself.'  " 

MONTAIGNE'S  DOWNKIGHTNESS. 

"  Here  is  an  impatience  and  fastidiousness  at  color ' 
or  pretense  of  any  kind.  He  has  been  in  courts  so  long 
as  to  have  conceived  a  furious  disgust  at  appearances  ; 
he  will  indulge  himself  with  a  little  cursing  and  swear 
ing  ;  he  will  talk  with  sailors  and  gypsies,  use  flash  and 


EMERSON. 

j  street  ballads.  Whatever  you  get  here  will  smack  of  the 
(earth  and  real  life — sweet,  or  smart,  or  stinging.  He 
makes  no  hesitation  to  entertain  you  with  the  records 
of  his  disease  ;  his  journey  to  Italy  is  quite  full  of  that 
matter.  He  took  and  kept  this  position  of  equilibrium. 
Over  his  name  he  drew  an  emblematic  pair  of  scales,  and 
wrote  '  Qve  spaisje?  '  under  it. 

"  The  essays  are  an  entertaining  soliloquy  on  every 
random  topic  that  comes  into  his  head  ;  treating  every 
thing  without  ceremony,  yet  with  masculine  sense.  There 
have  been  men  with  deeper  insight,  but,  one  would  say, 
never  a  man  with  such  an  abundance  of  thoughts.  He 
is  never  dull,  never  insincere,  and  has  the  genius  to  make 
the  reader  care  for  all  that  he  cares  for.  The  sincerity 
and  marrow  of  the  man  reaches  to  his  sentences.  I  know 
not  anywhere  the  book  that  seems  less  written.  It  is  the 
language  of  conversation  transferred  to  a  book.  One  has 
the  same  pleasure  in  it  that  we  have  in  listening  to  the 
necessary  speech  of  men  about  their  work,  when  any  un 
usual  circumstance  gives  momentary  importance  to  their 
dialogue.  At  thirty-three  he  married,  not  because  he 
wished  to,  he  says,  'but  because  the  common  custom  and 
the  use  of  life  will  have  it  so.  Most  of  my  actions  are 
guided  by  example,  not  choice.'  In  the  hour  of  death  he 
gave  the  same  weight  to  custom,  causing  the  Mass  to  be 
celebrated  in  his  chamber." 

We  can  well  understand  how  Montaigne  should 
have  come  to  be  a  favorite  author  during  the  two 
unfastidious  centuries  after  his  death ;  and  how, 
as  Emerson  says,  "the  world  has  endorsed  his 
book  by  translating  it  into  all  tongues,  and  print 
ing  seventy-five  editions  of  it  in  Europe ;  and 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  273 

that,  too,  a  circulation  somewhat  chosen,  namely, 
among  courtiers,  soldiers,  princes,  and  men  of  the 
world,  and  men  of  generosity."  It  is  a  kind  of 
seventeenth  century  "Spectator,"  full  of  keen  ob 
servation  and  cutting  wit ;  not  indeed  free  from 
impurity,  like  the  English  "Spectator,"  but 
not  defaced  by  the  pruriency  of  Boccaccio  or 
the  shameless  obscenity  of  Rabelais.  But  still  a 
question  will  come  up  which  is  thus  put  by  Emer 
son  :  "  Shall  we  say  that  Montaigne  has  spoken 
wisely,  and  given  the  right  and  permanent  ex 
pression  of  the  human  mind  on  the  Conduct  of 
Life?"  This  question  he  appears  to  answer  in 
the  affirmative,  and  essentially  on  the  ground  of 
what,  we  suppose,  he  would  style  the  Rational 
Skepticism  of  Montaigne.  As  heretofore,  we  iso 
late  several  passages,  which  taken  together  seem 
to  fairly  express  the  purport  of  the  whole  : 

BELIEF   AND   SKEPTICISM. 

"  We  are  natural  believers.  Truth,  or  the  connection 
of  cause  and  effect,  alone  interests  us.  We  are  persuaded 
that  a  thread  runs  through  all  things ;  all  worlds  arc 
strung  upon  it,  as  beads;  and  men,  and  events,  and  life, 
come  to  us  only  because  of  that  thread ;  they  pass  and 
repass,  only  that  we  may  know  the  direction  and  con 
tinuity  of  that  line.  A  book  or  statement  which  goes  to 
show  that  there  is  no  line,  but  random  and  chaos — a 
calamity  out  of  nothing,  a  prosperity  and  no  account  of 
it,  a  hero  born  from  a  fool,  a  fool  from  a  hero — dispirits 
us.  Seen  or  unseen,  we  believe  that  the  tie  exists. 
18 


274  EMERSON. 

Talent  makes  counterfeit  ties;  genius  makes  the  real 
ones./ 

VvBut,  though  we  are  natural  conservers  and  causa- 
tionists,  and  reject  a  sour,  dumpish  unbelief,  the  skepti- 

Ical  class,  which  Montaigne  represents,  have  reason,  and 
every  man  at  some  time  belongs  to  it.  Every  superior 
mind  will  pass  through  this  domain  of  equilibrium ;  I 
should  rather  say,  will  know  how  to  avail  himself  of  the 
checks  and  balances  in  Nature,  as  a  natural  weapon 
against  the  exaggeration  and  formalism  of  bigots  and 
blockheads. 

"  Skepticism  is  the  attitude  assumed  by  the  student 
in  relation  to  the  particulars  which  society  adores,  but 
which  he  sees  to  be  reverend  only  in  their  tendency  and 
spirit.  The  ground  occupied  by  the  skeptic  is  the  vesti 
bule  of  the  temple.  Society  does  not  like  to  have  any 
breath  of  question  blown  on  the  existing  order.  But  the 
i  interrogation  of  custom  at  all  points  is  an  inevitable  stage 
in  the  growth  of  every  superior  mind,  and  is  the  evi 
dence  of  its  perception  of  the  flowing  Power  which  re 
mains  itself  in  all  changes."  *  SyUfytyfA  ,  ,  ^ 

^"Emerson  goes  on  to  speak  of  several  kinds  of 
irrational  skepticism.     He  says :      ,.;         ^ 

"  I  mean  to  celebrate  this  calendar-day  of  our  Saint 
Michael  de  Montaigne  by  counting  and  describing  these 
doubts  and  negations.  I  wish  to  ferret  them  out  of  their 
holes  and  sun  them  a  little.  We  must  do  with  them  as  the 
police  do  with  old  rogues,  who  are  shown  up  to  the  pub 
lic  at  the  marshal's  office.  They  will  never  be  so  for 
midable  when  once  they  have  been  entered  and  regis 
tered.  But  I  mean  honestly  by  them  ;  that  justice  shall 
be  done  to  their  terrors.  I  shall  not  take  sundry  obje^- 

'••" 


I 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.  275 

tions,  made  up  on  purpose  to  be  put  down.  I  shall  take 
the  worst  I  can  find,  whether  I  can  dispose  of  them  or 
they  of  me.  I  do  not  press  the  skepticism  of  the  Mate 
rialist.  I  know  the  quadruped  opinion  will  not  prevail. 
It  is  of  no  importance  what  bats  and  oxen  think." 

But  there  are  dangerous  forms  of  irrational 
skepticism. 

LEVITY    OF    INTELLSOT. 

"The  first  dangerous  symptom  I  report  is  levity  of 
intellect,  as  if  it  were  fatal  to  earnestness  to  know  too 
much.  XKnowledge  is  the  knowing  that  we  cannot 
know.  The  dull  pray,  the  geniuses  are  light  mockers. 
How  respectable  is  earnestness  on  every  platform !  but 
intellect  kills  it?  This  is  hobgoblin  the  first,  and  though 
it  has  been  the  subject  of  much  eulogy  in  our  nineteenth 
century,  I  confess  it  is  not  very  affecting  to  my  imag 
ination,  for  it  seems  to  concern  the  shattering  of  baby- 
houses  and  toy-shops.  \  What  flutters  the  Church  of  Rome, 
or  of  England,  or  of  Geneva,  or  of  Boston  may  have,  may 
yet  be  very  far  from  touching,  any  principle  of  faith.  I 
think  the  wiser  a  man  is,  the  more  stupendous  he  finds 
the  natural  and  moral  economy,  and  lifts  himself  to  a 
more  absolute  reliance." 

THE    POWER    OF    MOODS. 

"  There  is  the  power  of  moods,  each  setting  at  naught 
all  but  its  own  tissue  of  facts  and  beliefs.  The  beliefs 
and  unbeliefs  appear  to  be  structural.  Our  life  is  March 
weather,  savage  and  serene  each  hour.  We  go  forth 
austere,  serene,  dedicated ;  believing  in  the  iron  links  of 
destiny,  and  will  not  turn  on  our  heel  to  save  our  life. 


276  EMERSON. 

But  a  book  or  a  bust,  or  only  the  sound  of  a  name, 
shoots  a  spark  through  the  nerves,  and  we  suddenly  be 
lieve  in  will ;  '  Fate  is  for  imbeciles ;  all  is  possible  to 
the  resolved  mind.'  Presently  a  new  experience  gives  a 
new  turn  to  our  thoughts;  common-sense  resumes  its 
tyranny;  we  say,  'Well,  the  army,  after  all,  is  the  gate 
to  fame,  manners,  and  poetry;  and  look  you,  on  the 
whole,  selfishness  plants  best,  prunes  best,  makes  the 
best  commerce,  and  the  best  citizen.'  Are  the  opinions 
of  men  on  right  and  wrong,  on  fate  and  causation,  at  the 
mercy  of  a  broken  sleep  or  an  indigestion  ?  Is  his  belief 
in  God  and  duty  no  deeper  than  a  stomach  evidence? 
And  what  guaranty  for  the  permanence  of  his  opinions  ? 
I  like  not  the  French  celerity — a  Church  and  a  State  once 
a  week.  This  is  the  second  negation ;  and  I  shall  let  it 
pass  for  what  it  will." 

FATE   OE   DESTINY. 

"The  word  fate,  or  destiny,  expresses  the  sense  of 
mankind  in  all  ages — that  the  laws  of  the  world  do  not 
always  befriend,  but  often  hurt  and  crush  us.  Fate,  in 
the  shape  of  Kinde  or  Nature,  grows  over  us  like  grass. 
We  paint  Time  with  a  scythe ;  Love  and  Fortune,  blind ; 
Destiny,  deaf.  We  have  too  little  power  of  resistance 
against  this  ferocity  which  champs  us  up.  What  front 
can  we  make  against  these  unavoidable,  victorious,  malefi 
cent  forces?  What  can  I  do  against  the  influence  of 
race  in  my  history?  What  can  I  do  against  hereditary 
and  constitutional  habits ;  against  scrofula,  lymph,  im 
potence  ;  against  climate,  against  barbarism  in  my  coun 
try?  I  can  reason  down  or  deny  everything  except  this 
perpetual  Belly ;  feed  he  must  and  will,  and  I  cannot 
make  him  respectable." 


REPRESENTATIVE   MEN.  377 

ILLUSIONISM. 

"  But  the  main  resistance  which  the  affirmative  im 
pulse  finds— and  one  including  all  others— is  in  the  doc 
trine  of  the  illusionists.  There  is  a  painful  rumor  in  cir 
culation  that  we  have  been  practised  upon  in  all  the 
principal  performances  of  life,  and  free-agency  is  the  emp 
tiest  name.  The  mathematics,  it  is  complained,  leave 
the  mind  where  they  find  it:  so  do  all  sciences;  and  so 
do  all  events  and  actions.  I  find  a  man  who  has  passed 
through  all  the  sciences  the  churl  he  was,  and  through 
all  the  offices,  learned,  civil,  and  social,  can  detect  the 
child.  We  are  not  the  less  necessitated  to  dedicate  life 
to  them.  In  fact,  we  may  come  to  accept  it  as  the  fixed 
rule  and  theory  of  our  state  of  education  that  God  is  a 
substance,  and  his  method  is  illusion.  The  eastern  sages 
owned  the  goddess  Yoganidra,  the  great  illusory  energy 
of  Vishnu,  by  whom,  as  utter  ignorance,  the  whole  world 
is  beguiled ;  or  shall  I  state  it  thus :  The  astonishment  of 
life  is  the  absence  of  any  appearance  of  reconciliation  be 
tween  the  theory  and  the  practice  of  life." 

Twenty  years  before,  Emerson  had  thought — or 
at  least  thought  that  he  thought — that  all  these 
obstinate  questionings  of  things  outward  and  in 
ward  could  be  easily  resolved.  In  his  "  Nature  " 
he  had  said  :  "Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions 
to  ask  which  are  unanswerable ;  whatever  curiosity 
the  order  of  things  has  awakened,  the  order  of 
things  can  satisfy.  The  true  theory  will  explain 
all  phenomena."  Now  everything  is  unexplained, 
and  apparently  as  inexplicable  as  ever.  And  so 
every  sound  man  must  perforce  be  a  skeptic. 
"  Shall  we,"  lie  asks,  "because  a  good  nature  in- 


278  EMERSON. 

clines  to  virtue's  side,  say  '  There  are  no  doubts/ 
and  lie  for  the  right  ?  Can  you  not  believe  that 
a  man  of  earnest  and  burly  habit  may  find  small 
good  in  tea,  essays,  and  catechism,  and  wants  a 
rougher  instruction  to  make  things  plain  to  him  ? 
And  has  he  not  a  right  to  be  convinced  in  his 
own  way  ?  When  he  is  convinced  he  will  be 
worth  the  pains. " 

Montaigne,  as  we  read  him,  was  never  much 
vexed  with  any  of  these  doubts  and  questionings  ; 
or,  if  he  was  vexed  by  them,  never  came  to  be 
convinced.  He  lived  his  threescore  years,  took 
things  as  he  found  them,  and  did  not  try  to 
mend  them.  He  married  because  he  saw  that 
other  men  of  his  years  and  station  were  wont  to 
marry;  and  partook  of  the  sacrament  when  on 
his  deathbed,  because  that  was  the  custom  in 
France.  For  things  which  lay  close  around  him 
he  had  a  keen  perception,  and  had  a  sharp  way  of 
expressing  his  perception.  But  for  all  higher 
matters,  if  to  his  chosen  motto,  "  Que  spais  je?" 
(What  do  I  know?)  we  add,  "And  what  do  I 
care  ? "  we  shall  have  the  measure  of  the  man. 
We  are  not  sure  what  direct  answer  Emerson 
would  have  given  to  his  own  question :  "  Has 
Montaigne  spoken  wisely,  and  given  the  right 
and  permanent  expression  of  the  human  mind  on 
the  conduct  of  life  ?  "  But  our  answer,  and  the 
answer  of  the  whole  scope  of  Emerson's  teachings 
is,  "He  has  not  so  done." 


THE   CONDUCT   OF  LIFE.  279 

XL 

THE   CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

EMERSON'S  "  Conduct  of  Life/'  published  in 
1860,  consists  of  nine  essays  upon  various  topics, 
such  as  "Fate,"  "Power,"  "Wealth,"  "Cul 
ture,"  "Beauty,"  "Worship,"  and  "Illusions." 
They  may  properly  be  regarded  as  a  third  series 
of  his  "  Essays."  The  old  topics  are  treated  un 
der  somewhat  new  aspects,  with  less  of  apparent 
inconsistency  in  form.  Years  had  enlarged  the 
scope  of  his  vision  and  changed  his  standpoint,  so 
that  he  could  take  in  at  a  glance  more  than  one 
facet  of  the  prism.  The  mottoes  prefixed  to  sev 
eral  of  these  essays  are  indicative  of  their  scope 
and  tendency. 

FATE. 

"  Delicate  omens,  traced  in  air, 
To  the  lone  bard  true  witness  bare ; 
Birds,  with  auguries  on  their  wings, 
Chanted  undeceiving  things, 
Him  to  beckon,  him  to  warn ; 
Well  might  then  the  poet  scorn 
To  learn  of  scribe  or  courier 
Hints  writ  in  vaster  character ; 
And  on  his  mind,  at  dawn  of  day, 
Soft  shadows  of  the  evening  lay ; 
For  the  prevision  is  allied 
Unto  the  thing  so  signified ; 
Or  say,  the  foresight  that  awaits 
Is  the  same  genius  that  creates." 


280  EMERSON. 

A  single  quatrain  stands  as  the  motto  to  the 
essay  on  "Power :" 

POWER. 

"  His  tongue  was  framed  to  music, 
And  his  hand  was  armed  with  skill ; 
His  face  was  the  mould  of  beauty, 
And  his  heart  the  throne  of  will." 

The  motto  to  the  essay  on  "  Wealth  "  is  much 
longer.     We  quote  only  the  conclusion  : 

WEALTH. 

"  All  is  waste  and  worthless,  till 
Arrives  the  wise,  selecting  Will, 
And  out  of  time  and  chaos,  wit 
Draws  the  threads  of  fair  and  fit. 
Then  temples  rose,  and  towns  and  marts, 
The  shop  of  toil,  the  hall  of  arts ; 
Then  flew  the  sail  across  the  seas, 
To  feed  the  North  from  tropic  trees — 
The  storm-wind  wove,  the  torrent  span, 
Where  they  were  bid  the  rivers  ran  ; 
New  slaves  fulfilled  the  poet's  dream — 
Galvanic  wire,  strong-shouldered  steam. 
Then  docks  were  built,  and  crops  were  stored, 
And  ingots  added  to  the  hoard. 
But,  though  light-headed  man  forget, 
Eemembering  matter  pays  her  debt ; 
Still,  through  her  motes  and  masses  draw 
Electric  thrills  and  ties  of  law, 
Which  bend  the  strength  of  Nature  wild 
To  the  conscience  of  a  child." 


THE  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE.  281 

The  motto  to  the  essay  on  "Behavior"  is  es 
pecially  Emersonian  in  its  irregularity  of  rhythm 
and  rhyme  : 

BEHAVIOE. 

"  Grace,  Beauty,  and  Caprice 

Built  this  wonderful  portal ; 
Graceful  women,  chosen  men, 

Dazzle  every  mortal : 
Their  sweet  and  lofty  countenance 

His  enchanting  food ; 
He  need  not  go  to  them,  their  forms 

Beset  his  solitude. 
He  seldom  looketh  in  their  face, 

His  eyes  explore  the  ground, 
The  green  grass  is  a  looking-glass 

Whereon  their  traits  are  found. 
Little  he  says  to  them — 

So  dances  his  heart  in  his  breast ; 
Their  tranquil  mien  bereaveth  him 

Of  wit,  of  words,  of  rest. 
Too  weak  to  win,  too  fond  to  shun 

The  tyrants  of  his  doom, 
The  much-deceived  Endymion 

Slips  behind  a  tomb." 

Of  the  noble  essay  on  <( Worship"  something 
has  already  been  said  in  connection  with  the  spi 
ritual  philosophy  of  Emerson.  Its  motto  is  : 

WORSHIP. 

"  This  is  he  who,  felled  by  foes, 
Sprung  harmless  up,  refreshed  by  blows : 


282  EMERSON. 

He  to  captivity  was  sold, 

But  him  no  prison-bars  would  hold  : 

Though  they  sealed  him  on  a  rock, 

Mountain  chains  he  can  unlock  : 

Thrown  to  lions  for  their  meat, 

The  crouching  lion  kissed  his  feet : 

Bound  to  the  stake,  no  fears  appalled, 

But  arched  o'er  him  an  honoring  vault. 

This  is  he  men  miscall  Fate, 

Threading  dark  ways,  arriving  late ; 

But  ever  coming  in  time  to  crown 

The  truth,  and  hurl  wrong-doers  down. 

He  is  the  oldest  and  best  known, 

More  near  than  aught  thou  call'st  thy  own. 

Yet,  greeted  in  another's  eyes, 

Disconcerts  with  glad  surprise. 

This  is  Jove,  who,  deaf  to  prayers, 

Floods  with  blessings  unawares. 

Draw,  if  thou  canst,  the  mystic  line 

Severing  rightly  his  from  thine. 

Which  is  human,  which  Divine?  " 

The  essay  on  "Illusions"  is  mystical  enough 
in  subject  and  treatment :  quite  as  mystical  as  is 
its  motto  ;  and  the  unrhymed  lines  have  a  weird, 
almost  impalpable,  rhythm : 

ILLUSIONS. 

"  Flow,  flow  the  waves  hated, 

Accursed,  adored, 
The  waves  of  mutation  : 

No  anchorage  is. 
Sleep  is  not,  Death  is  not  ; 
Who  seem  to  die,  live. 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE.  283 

u  House  you  were  born  in, 

Friends  of  your  spring-time, 
Old  man  and  young  maid, 

Day's  toil  and  its  guerdon, 
Fleeing  to  fables,  cannot  be  moored. 

"  See  the  stars  through  them, 
Through  treacherous  marbles. 

Know,  the  stars  everlasting 

Are  fugitive  also, 
And  emulate  vaulting 
The  lambent  heat-lightning 
And  fire-fly's  flight. 

"  When  thou  dost  return 

On  the  wave's  circulation, 
Beholding  the  shimmer, 

The  wild  dissipation, 
And  out  of  endeavor 
To  change  and  to  flow, 

The  gas  becomes  solid, 

And  Phantoms  and  Nothings 

Keturn  to  be  Things, 

And  endless  imbroglio 
Is  Law  and  the  World. 

Then  first  shalt  thou  know 
That  in  the  wild  turmoil, 

Horsed  upon  Proteus, 
Thou  ridest  to  power 

And  to  endurance." 

But  even  in  illusions  Emerson  finds  uses.  He 
says  :  "The  intellect  is  stimulated  by  the  state 
ment  of  truth  in  trope,  and  the  will  by  clothing 


284  EMERSON. 

the  laws  of  life  in  illusions.  But  the  unities  of 
truth  and  right  are  not  broken  by  the  disguise. 
There  need  never  be  any  confusion  in  these.  In 
a  crowded  life  of  many  parts  and  performances, 
on  a  stage  of  nations  or  in  the  obscurest  hamlet 
of  Maine  and  California,  the  same  elements  offer 
the  same  choices  to  each  new-comer  ;  and,  accord 
ing  to  his  election,  he  fixes  his  fortune  in  absolute 
Nature."  Then  follows  a  maxim  which  might 
have  been  framed  by  Montaigne  in  one  of  his  best 
moods  :  "It  would  be  hard  to  put  more  mental 
and  moral  philosophy  than  the  Persians  have 
thrown  into  a  sentence — 

4  Fooled  thou  must  be,  though  the  wisest  of  the  wise : 
Then  be  the  fool  of  virtue,  not  of  vice.' " 

The  essay  and  the  book  close  with  this — often 
said  in  substance  elsewhere  : 

ILLUSIONS    THEMSELVES    ILLUSIONAKY. 

"  There  is  no  chance  and  no  anarchy  in  the  universe. 
Every  god  is  there  sitting  in  his  sphere.  The  youn^ 
mortal  enters  the  hall  of  the  firmament ;  there  he  is  alone 
with  them  alone  ;  they  pouring  on  him  benedictions  and 
gifts,  and  beckoning  him  up  to  their  thrones.  On  the 
instant,  and  incessantly,  fall  snow-storms  of  illusions. 
He  fancies  himself  in  a  vast  crowd,  which  sways  this 
way  and  that,  and  whose  movement  and  doings  he 
must  obey  ;  he  fancies  himself  poor,  orphaned,  insignifi 
cant.  The  mad  crowd  drives  him  hither  and  thither ; 
now  furiously  commanding  this  thing  to  be  done,  now 


SOCIETY  AND   SOLITUDE.  285 

that.  What  is  he  that  he  should  resist  their  will  and 
think  or  act  for  himself?  Every  moment  new  changes 
and  new  showers  of  deceptions  to  haffle  and  distract  him. 
And  when,  by  and  by,  for  an  instant,  the  air  clears  and 
the  cloud  lifts  a  little,  there  are  the  gods  still  sitting  around 
him  on  their  thrones — they  alone  with  him  alone." 


XII. 

SOCIETY   AKD   SOLITUDE. 

"  SOCIETY  and  Solitude "  was  published  in 
1870.  It  consists  of  twelve  chapters,  and  may 
be  regarded  as  a  fourth  series  of  the  "Essays." 
The  topics  relate  mainly  to  matters  of  every-day 
life  and  common  experience,  such  as  "Civili 
zation,"  "Art,"  "Domestic  Life,"  "Farming," 
"  Clubs,"  "  Success,"  and  "  Old  Age."  The  tone 
is  calm  and  serene,  rising  not  unfrequently  into 
grave  eloquence,  less  brilliant  and  striking  than 
was  displayed  in  his  earlier  writings.  It  is  a  book 
to  be  taken  up  in  those  halcyon  hours  which 
sometimes  come  to  severest  thinker  when  he 
longs  for  a  temporary  repose.  The  closing  chap 
ter  on  "  Old  Age  "  breathes  the  very  spirit  of  the 
closing  stanza  of  Wordsworth's  ode  on  the  "  In 
timation  of  Immortality  "  : 


280  EMERSON. 

"  The  clouds  which  gather  round  the  setting  sun 

Do  take  a  silver  coloring  from  an  eye 

Which  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality. 
Another  race  is  run,  and  other  palms  are  won. 

Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live — 
Thinks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears — 

To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

Somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Cicero,  in  the 
"De  Senectute,"  Emerson  enumerates  some  of 
the  consolations  and  blessings  of  a  serene  old 
age.  We  cite  only  one  of  these  : 

ACCOMPLISHED    PURPOSES. 

"Another  felicity  of  age  is  that  it  has  found  expres 
sion.  The  youth  suffers  not  only  from  ungratified  de 
sires,  but  from  powers  untried,  and  from  a  picture  in 
his  mind  of  a  career  which  has  as  yet  no  outward  real 
ity.  He  is  tormented  with  the  want  of  correspondence 
between  things  and  thoughts.  Michel  Angelo's  head  is 
full  of  masculine  and  gigantic  figures  as  of  gods  walking, 
which  make  him  savage  until  his  furious  chisel  can  ren 
der  them  into  marble ;  and  of  architectural  dreams,  until 
a  hundred  stone-masons  can  lay  them  in  courses  of  trav 
ertine. 

"There  is  the  like  tempest  in  every  good  head  in 
which  some  great  benefit  for  the  world  is  planted.  The 
throes  continue  until  the  child  is  born.  Every  faculty 
new  to  each  man  thus  goads  and  drives  him  out  into 
doleful  deserts  until  it  finds  proper  vent.  All  the  func 
tions  of  human  duty  irritate  and  lash  him  forward,  be 
moaning  and  chiding,  until  they  are  performed.  He 


SOCIETY  AND  SOLITUDE.  287 

wants  friends,  employment,  knowledge,  power,  house 
and  land,  wife  and  children,  honor  and  fame;  he  has 
religious  wants,  aesthetic  wants,  domestic,  civil,  humane 
wants.  One  by  one,  day  after  day,  he  learns  to  coin 
his  wishes  into  facts.  He  has  his  calling,  homestead, 
social  connection,  and  personal  power ;  and  thus,  at  the 
end  of  fifty  years,  his  soul  is  appeased  hy  seeing  some 
sort  of  correspondence  between  his  wish  and  his  posses 
sion.  This  makes  the  value  of  age,  the  satisfaction  it 
slowly  offers  to  every  craving.  He  is  serene  who  does 
not  feel  himself  pinched  and  wronged,  but  whose  con 
dition,  in  particular  and  in  general,  allows  the  utterance 
of  his  mind.  In  old  persons,  when  thus  fully  expressed, 
we  often  observe  a  fair,  plump,  perennial,  waxen  com 
plexion,  which  indicates  that  all  the  ferment  of  earlier 
days  has  subsided  into  serenity  of  thought  and  behav 
ior." 

All  this,  of  course,  relates  only  to  persons  who 
have  attained  in  some  good  measure  to  the  ideal 
of  a  serene  old  age.  Not  a  few  fail  wholly  of  this, 
some  by  reason  of  faults  patent  to  all,  some  by 
reason  of  circumstances  seemingly  quite  beyond 
their  control.  Among  great  men  who  have  fairly 
attained  to  this  blessing  we  may  cite  the  names  of 
"Wordsworth,  Gibbon,  Milton,  Franklin,  Bryant, 
Longfellow,  John  Adams,  and  Emerson.  A  very 
pleasant  sketch  is  given  of  John  Adams,  at  the 
age  of  almost  ninety.  It  is  all  the  more  interest 
ing  because  it  is  a  transcript  of  what  had  been 
written  by  Emerson  forty-five  years  before — he 
then  being  only  twenty- two.  He  says  :  "  I  have 


288  EMERSON. 

lately  found  in  an  old  note-book  a  record  of  a  visit 
to  ex-President  John  Adams  in  1825,  soon  after 
the  election  of  his  son  to  the  Presidency.  It  is 
but  a  sketch,  and  nothing  important  passed  in 
the  conversation  ;  but  it  reports  a  moment  in  the 
life  of  an  heroic  person  who  in  extreme  old  age 
appeared  still  erect,  and  worthy  of  his  fame." 

JOHN   ADAMS   AT    NINETY. 

"  To-day,  at  Quincy,  with  my  brother,  by  invitation 
of  Mr.  Adams's  family.  The  old  President  sat  in  a 
stuffed  arm-chair,  dressed  in  a  blue  coat,  black  small 
clothes,  white  stockings ;  a  cotton  cap  covered  his  bald 
head.  We  made  our  compliment,  told  him  he  must  let 
us  join  our  gratulations  and  congratulations  to  those  of 
the  nation  on  the  happiness  of  his  house. 

"  He  thanked  us,  and  said :  '  I  am  rejoiced  because  the 
nation  is  happy.  The  time  of  gratulation  and  congratu 
lation  is  nearly  over  with  me.  I  am  astonished  that  I 
have  lived  to  see  and  know  of  this  event.  I  have  lived 
now  nearly  a  century — a  long,  harassed,  and  eventful 
life.7  I  said:  'The  world  thinks  a  good  deal  of  joy  has 
been  mixed  with  it.'  'The  world  does  not  know,' he 
replied,  'how  much  toil,  anxiety,  and  sorrow  I  have 
suffered.'  I  asked  if  Mr.  Adams's  letter  of  acceptance 
had  been  read  to  him.  '  Yes,'  he  said;  and  added,  'My 
son  has  more  political  prudence  than  any  man  I  know 
who  has  existed  in  my  time.  He  was  never  put  off  his 
guard,  and  I  hope  he  will  continue  such  ;  but  what  effect 
age  may  work  in  dimir 'siring  the  power  of  his  mind,  I  do 
not  know.  He  has  been  very  much  on  the  stretch  ever 
since  he  was  born.  He  has  always  been  very  laborious, 


SOCIETY  AND   SOLITUDE. 

child  and  man,  from  infancy.'  When  Mr.  J.  Q.  Adams's 
age  was  mentioned,  he  said:  'He  is  now  fifty-eight,  or 
will  be  in  July ' ;  and  remarked,  '  all  the  Presidents  were 
of  the  same  age.  General  Washington  was  about  fifty- 
eight,  I  was  about  fifty-eight,  and  Mr.  Jefferson,  and 
Mr.  Madison,  and  Mr.  Monroe.'  We  inquired  when  he 
expected  to  see  Mr.  Adams.  He  said :  '  Never ;  Mr. 
Adams  will  not  come  to  Quincy,  except  to  my  funeral. 
It  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  to  see  him ;  but  I 
don't  wish  him  to  come  on  my  account.' " 

The  interview  lasted  about  an  hour,  the  con 
versation  touching  upon  a  great  variety  of  topics. 

"  He  spoke  of  Mr.  Lechmere,  whom  he  '  well  remem 
bered  to  have  seen  come  down  daily,  at  a  great  age,  to 
walk  in  the  old  town-house ' ;  adding,  '  he  was  collector 
for  the  customs  for  many  years  under  the  Royal  Gov 
ernment.'  Edward  said,  '  I  suppose,  sir,  you  would  not 
have  taken  his  place,  even  to  have  walked  as  well  as  he.' 
1  No,'  he  answered,  'that  was  not  what  I  wanted.' 

"He  talked  of  Whitefield,  and  remembered,  when  he 
was  a  freshman  at  college,  to  have  come  into  town  to  the 
Old  South  Church  to  hear  him,  but  could  not  get  int5  the 
house.  'I,  however,  saw  him,' he  said,  'and  distinctly 
heard  all.  He  had  a  voice  such  as  I  never  heard  before 
or  since.  He  cast  it  out  so  that  you  could  hear  it  at  the 
meeting-house' — pointing  toward  the  Quincy  Meeting 
house,  '  and  he  had  the  grace  of  a  dancing-master,  of  an 
actor  of  plays.' — '  And  were  you  pleased  with  him,  sir  ? ' 
— '  Pleased !  I  was  delighted  beyond  measure.'  We  asked 
if  at  Whitefield's  return  the  same  popularity  continued. 
'Not  the  same  fury,'  he  said,  'not  the  same  wild  enthu 
siasm  as  before;  but  a  greater  esteem,  as  he  became 
19 


290  EMERSON. 

more  known.  He  did  not  terrify,  but  was  admired.' 
lie  spoke  of  the  new  novels  of  Cooper,  and  '  Peep  at  the 
Pilgrims,'  and  'Saratoga,'  with  praise,  and  named  with 
accuracy  the  characters  iii  them. 

"  He  speaks  very  distinctly  for  so  old  a  man  ;  enters 
bravely  into  long  sentences,  which  are  interrupted  by 
want  of  breath ;  but  carries  them  invariably  to  a  conclu 
sion,  without  correcting  a  word.  He  likes  to  have  a 
person  always  reading  to  him,  or  company  talking  in 
his  room ;  and  is  better  next  day  after  having  visitors  in 
his  chamber  from  morning  to  night." 

This  chapter  closes  with  the  following  general 
summation  of  the  attainable  blessings  of  old  age  : 

OLD   AGE   AFTER  A   WELL-SPENT   LIFE. 

"  When  life  has  been  well-spent,  age  is  a  loss  which 
it  can  well  spare— muscular  strength,  organic  instincts, 
gross  bulk,  and  works  that  belong  to  these.  But  the 
central  wisdom,  which  was  old  in  infancy,  is  young  in 
fourscore  years ;  and,  dropping  off  obstructions,  leaves, 
in  happy  subjects,  the  mind  purified  and  wise.  I  have 
heard  that  whoever  loves  is  in  no  condition  old.  I  have 
heard  that  whenever  the  name  of  man  is  mentioned,  the 
doctrine  of  immortality  is  announced ;  it  cleaves  to  the 
constitution.  The  mode  of  it  baffles  our  wit,  and  no 
whisper  comes  to  us  from  the  other  side.  But  the  in 
ference  from  the  intellect,  hiving  knowledge,  hiving 
skill— at  the  end  of  life  just  ready  to  be  born— affirms 
the  inspirations  of  affection  and  of  the  moral  sentiment." 


LETTERS  AND  SOCIAL  AIMS.  291 

XIII. 

LETTERS   AND   SOCIAL  AIMS. 

IK  1875  Emerson  published  a  volume  entitled 
"  Letters  and  Social  Aims."  It  consists  of  eleven 
chapters,  and  is  really  the  fifth  series  of  his  "  Es 
says."  Probably  the  date  of  publication  indicates 
only  approximately  that  when  they  were  composed. 
Some  of  the  chapters  bear  evident  impresses  of 
an  earlier  period.  Some  of  them  read  like  stray 
waifs  which  had  lain  hidden  in  his  portfolios  and 
note-books.  Some  seem'  to  have  been  carefully 
elaborated,  and  only  awaited  the  time  of  publica 
tion.  Among  the  latter  class  is  the  thoughtful 
essay  on  "  Immortality"  which  closes  the  volume. 
Of  this  we  have  spoken  at  some  length  in  a  pre 
ceding  chapter.  But  the  position  given  to  it 
seems  to  indicate  that,  with  all  its  doubts  and 
questionings,  it  embodies  Emerson's  maturest 
thoughts  and  convictions  upon  this  subject.  In 
the  essay  on  "  Poetry  and  Imagination,"  Emer 
son  gives  his  idea  of  what  essentially  constitutes 
poetry : 

POETRY. 

"Poetry  is  the  perpetual  endeavor  to  express  the 
spirit  of  the  thing;  to  pass  the  brute  body,  and  search 
the  life  and  reason  which  cause  it  to  exist ;  to  see  that 


292  EMERSON. 

the  object  is  always  flowing  away,  whilst  the  spirit  or 
necessity  which  causes  it  subsists.  Its  essential  mark  is 
that  it  betrays  in  every  word  instant  activity  of  mind, 
shown  in  new  uses  of  every  fact  and  image ;  in  preter 
natural  quickness  or  perception  of  relations.  All  its 
words  are  poems.  It  is  the  presence  of  mind  that  gives 
a  miraculous  command  of  all  means  of  uttering  the 
thought  and  feeling  of  the  moment.  The  poet  squanders 
on  the  hour  an  amount  of  life  that  would  more  than 
furnish  the  seventy  years  of  the  man  that  stands  next 
him. 

"  The  thoughts  are  few,  the  forms  many ;  the  large 
vocabulary  or  many-colored  coat  of  the  indigent  Unity. 
In  the  presence  and  conversation  of  a  true  poet,  teeming 
with  images  to  express  his  enlarging  thought,  his  per 
son,  his  form,  grows  larger  to  our  fascinated  eyes.  And 
thus  begins  that  deification  which  all  nations  have  made 
of  their  heroes  of  many  kind — saints,  poets,  law-givers, 
and  warriors.  Our  best  definition  of  poetry  is  one  of 
the  oldest  sentences,  and  claims  to  have  come  down 
from  the  Chaldsean  Zoroaster,  who  wrote  it  thus: 
'Poets  are  standing  transporters,  whose  employment 
consists  in  speaking  to  the  Father  and  to  matter;  in 
producing  apparent  imitations  of  apparent  natures,  and 
inscribing  things  unapparent  in  the  apparent  fabrication 
of  the  world.'" 

This  is  the  ideal  of  what  poetry  should  be  ;  an 
ideal  seldom  realized  fully  in  the  greatest  of  poets, 
and  then  only  in  the  very  greatest  of  parts  of 
their  best  poems.  But  there  are  certain  adjuncts 
to  poetry  which  are  so  general  that  they  may  be 
regarded  as  indispensable.  Among  these  are  : 


LETTERS   AND   SOCIAL  AIMS.  293 

MELODY    AND    FOEM. 

"  Music  and  rhyme  are  among  the  earliest  pleasures 
of  the  child,  and,  in  the  history  of  literature,  poetry  pre 
cedes  prose.  Every  one  may  see,  as  he  rides  on  the 
highway  through  an  uninteresting  landscape,  how  a 
little  water  instantly  relieves  the  monotony,  no  matter 
what  objects  are  near  it — a  gray  rock,  a  grass-patch,  an 
alder-bush,  a  stake — they  become  beautiful  by  being  re 
flected.  It  is  rhyme  to  the  eye,  and  explains  the  charm 
of  rhyme  to  the  ear.  Shadows  please  us  as  still  finer 
rhymes.  Architecture  gives  the  like  pleasure  by  the 
repetition  of  equal  parts  in  a  colonnade,  in  a  row  of 
windows,  or  in  wings;  gardens,  by  the  symmetric  con 
trasts  of  the  beds  and  walks.  In  society  you  have  this 
figure  in  a  bridal  company,  where  a  choir  of  white-robed 
maidens  gives  the  charm  of  living  statues ;  in  a  funeral 
procession,  where  all  wear  black ;  in  a  regiment  of  sol 
diers  in  uniform." 

EHYME   AND   EHYTHM. 

"  The  universality  of  this  taste  is  proved  by  our  habit 
of  casting  our  facts  into  rhyme  to  remember  them  better, 
as  so  many  proverbs  may  show.  Who  would  hold  the 
order  of  the  almanac  so  fast,  but  for  the  ding-dong 
'  Thirty  days  hath  September,'  etc. ;  or  of  the  zodiac,  but 
for  'The  ram,  the  bull,  the  heavenly  twins,'  etc.?  We 
are  lovers  of  rhyme  and  return,  period  and  musical  re 
flection.  The  babe  is  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  nurse's  song. 
Sailors  can  work  better  for  their  '  Yo-heave-o ! '  Sol 
diers  can  march  better  for  the  drum  and  the  trumpet." 

METRE. 

"Metre  begins  with  pulse-beat,  and  the  length  of 
lines  in  songs  and  poems  is  determined  by  the  inhalation 


294  EMERSON. 

and  exhalation  of  the  lungs.  If  you  hum  or  whistle  the 
rhythm  of  the  common  English  metres — of  the  decasyl 
labic  quatrain  or  the  octosyllabic  with  alternate  sexisyl- 
labic,  or  other  rhythms,  you  can  easily  believe  these 
measures  to  be  organic,  derived  from  the  human  pulse, 
and  to  be  therefore  not  proper  to  one  nation,  but  to  man 
kind.  I  think  you  will  also  find  a  charm — heroic,  plain 
tive,  pathetic — in  these  cadences,  and  be  at  once  set  on 
searching  for  the  words  that  can  rightly  fill  the  vacant 
beats." 

It  is  further  shown  that  the  so-called  "  paral 
lelism,"  or  iteration  of  thought  and  phrase,  which 
forms  the  distinctive  feature  of  the  poetry  of  the 
Hebrews,  is  in  reality  a  form  of  rhyme.  The 
thought  instead  of  the  sound  is  repeated.  Thus 
rhyme  of  some  sort  seems  essential  to  poetry. 
We  indeed  speak  of  "Prose-Poets,"  such  as  Jere 
my  Taylor,  Thomas  Taylor,  the  Platonist,  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  the  author  of  "Urn-Burial," 
and  Jean  Paul  Eichter ;  and  Moore  says,  "If 
Burke  and  Bacon  were  not  poets  (measured  lines 
not  being  necessary  to  create  one),  I  do  not  know 
what  poetry  means."  But,  after  all,  the  fact  that 
we  denominate  such  men  "Prose-Poets"  shows 
that  we  still  hold  metre  to  be  an  essential  attri 
bute  of  poetry  ;  and  that  we  call  these  men  poets 
only  by  courtesy,  as  it  were.  Not  a  little  of  Em 
erson's  prose  is  poetic  in  thought ;  but,  if  he  had 
written  no  verse,  he  would  hardly  be  counted 
among  the  poets. 


LETTERS  AND   SOCIAL  AIMS.  295 

The  calm,  almost  somber  essay  on  "Great 
ness  "  stands  last  but  one  in  these  productions  of 
Emerson.  A  citation  or  two  from  this  will  close 
what  we  have  to  say  of  his  prose  writings  : 

GREATNESS. 

"  There  is  a  prize  which  we  are  all  aiming  at,  and  the 
more  power  and  goodness  we  have,  so  much  more  the 
energy  of  that  aim.  Every  human  being  has  a  right  to 
it,  and  in  the  pursuit  we  do  not  stand  in  each  other's 
way.  For  it  has  a  long  scale  of  degrees,  a  wide  variety 
of  views,  and  every  aspirant,  by  his  success  in  the  pur 
suit,  does  not  hinder,  but  helps  his  competitors.  I  might 
call  it  completeness,  but  that  is  later— perhaps  adjourned 
for  ages.  I  prefer  to  call  it  greatness. 

"It  is  the  fulfillment  of  a  natural  tendency  in  each 
man.  It  is  a  fruitful  study.  It  is  the  best  tonic  to  the 
young  soul.  And  no  man  is  unrelated ;  therefore  we  ad 
mire  eminent  men,  not  for  themselves  but  as  representa 
tives.  It  is  very  certain  that  we  ought  not  to  be,  and 
shall  not  be,  contented  with  any  goal  we  have  reached. 
Our  aim  is  no  less  than  greatness.  That  which  invites 
all,  belongs  to  us  all ;  to  which  we  are  all  sometimes  un 
true,  cowardly,  faithless ;  but  of  which  we  never  quite 
despair ;  and  which,  in  every  sane  moment,  we  resolve 
to  make  our  own.  It  is  also  the  only  platform  on  which 
all  men  can  meet.  What  anecdotes  of  any  man  do  we 
wish  to  hear  or  read?  Only  the  best.  Certainly  not 
those  in  which  he  was  degraded  to  the  level  of  dullness 
or  vice ;  but  those  in  which  he  rose  above  all  competi 
tors  by  obeying  a  light  that  shone  in  him  alone.  This 
is  the  worthiest  history  of  the  world." 


296  EMERSON. 


KINDS   OF   GEEATXE8S. 

"Greatness! — what  is  it?  Is  there  not  some  injury 
to  us,  some  insult  in  the  word  ?  What  we  commonly  call 
greatness  is  only  such  in  our  barbarous  or  infant  expe 
rience.  It  is  not  Alexander,  or  Bonaparte,  or  Count 
Moltke,  surely,  who  represent  the  highest  force  of  man 
kind.  Not  the  strong  hand,  but  wisdom  and  civility; 
the  creation  of  laws,  institutions,  letters,  and  art.  These 
we  call,  by  distinction,  the  humanities.  These,  and  not 
the  strong  arm  and  brave  heart,  which  are  also  indispen 
sable  to  their  defense.  For  the  scholars  represent  the 
intellect,  by  which  man  is  man — the  intellect  and  th*e 
moral  sentiment,  which  in  the  last  analysis  cannot  be 
separated.  Who  can  doubt  the  potency  of  the  individ 
ual  mind,  who  sees  the  shock  given  to  torpid  races — 
torpid  for  ages—by  Mohammed  ;  a  vibration  propagated 
over  Asia  and  Africa?  What  of  Menu?  what  of  Budd 
ha  ?  of  Shakespeare  ?  of  Newton  ?  of  Franklin  ?  " 

He  then  goes  on  to  point  out  some  of  the 
forms  under  which  greatness  is  manifested,  such 
as  self-respect,  manliness,  veracity,  sincerity  ;  and 
of  all  these,  self-respect  is  the  greatest.  He  says  : 

SELF-EESPECT. 

"If  we  should  ask  ourselves,  'What  is  this  self-re 
spect?'  it  would  carry  us  to  the  highest  problems.  It  is 
our  practical  perception  of  the  deity  in  man.  It  has  its 
foundation  deep  in  religion.  If  you  have  ever  known  a 
good  mind  among  the  Quakers,  you  will  have  found  that 
is  the  element  of  their  faith.  As  they  express  it,  it  might 
be  thus :  I  do  not  pretend  to  any  commandment  or  large 


LETTERS  AND   SOCIAL  AIMS.  297 

revelation,  but  if  at  any  time  I  form  some  plan,  propose 
a  journey,  or  course  of  conduct,  I  perhaps  find  a  silent 
obstacle  in  my  mind  that  I  cannot  account  foj*.  Very 
well,  I  let  it  lie,  thinking  it  may  pass  away ;  but  if  it 
does  not  pass  away,  I  yield  to  and  obey  it.  You  ask  me 
to  describe  it.  I  cannot  describe  it.  It  is  not  an  oracle, 
nor  an  angel,  nor  a  dream,  nor  a  law.  It  is  too  simple 
to  be  described,  but  is  but  a  grain  of  mustard-seed ;  but, 
such  as  it  is,  it  is  something  which  the  contradiction  of 
all  mankind  could  not  shake,  and  which  the  consent  of 
all  mankind  could  not  confirm." 

Germane  to  this  are  some  valuable  hints  and 
suggestions,  among  which  are  the  following  : 

THE   PATHS    TO    REAL   GREATNESS. 

"  You  are  rightly  fond  of  certain  books  or  men  that 
you  have  found  to  excite  your  reverence  and  emulation. 
But  none  of  these  can  compare  with  the  greatness  of 
that  counsel  which  is  open  to  you  in  happy  solitude.  I 
mean  that  there  is  for  you  the  following  of  an  inward 
leader :  a  slow  discrimination  that  there  is  for  each  a 
best  counsel  which  enjoins  the  fit  word  and  the  fit  action 
for  every  moment ;  and  the  path  of  each  pursued  leads 
to  greatness.  How  grateful  to  find  in  man  or  woman  a 
new  emphasis  of  their  own ! 

"  But,  if  the  first  rule  is  to  obey  your  native  bias — to 
accept  that  work  for  which  you  were  inwardly  formed— 
the  second  rule  is  concentration,  whicH  doubles  its  force. 
Thus,  if  you  are  a  scholar,  be  that.  The  same  laws  hold 
for  you  as  for  the  laborer.  The  good  shoemaker  makes 
a  good  shoe  because  he  makes  nothing  else.  Let  the 
student  mind  his  own  charge,  sedulously  waiting  every 


298  EMERSON. 

morning  for  the  news  concerning  the  structure  of  the 
world  which  the  spirit  will  give  him." 

And  again,  this  : 

SCINTILLATIONS   OF    GREATNESS. 

"  Scintillations  of  greatness  appear  here  and  there  in 
men  of  unequal  character,  and  are  by  no  means  confined 
to  the  cultivated  and  so-called  moral  class.  It  is  easy  to 
draw  traits  from  Napoleon,  who  was  not  generous  nor 
just,  but  was  intellectual,  and  knew  the  law  of  things. 
Napoleon  commands  our  respect  by  his  enormous  self- 
trust — the  habit  of  seeing  with  his  own  eyes,  never  the 
surface,  but  to  the  heart  of  the  matter — whether  it  was 
a  cannon,  a  character,  an  officer,  or  a  king ;  and  by  the 
speed  and  security  of  his  action  in  the  premises,  always 
new.  He  has  left  us  a  library  of  manuscripts,  a  multi 
tude  of  sayings,  every  one  of  widest  application.  I  find 
it  easy  to  translate  all  of  his  technics  into  all  of  mine ; 
and  his  official  advices  are  to  me  more  literary  and  phi 
losophical  than  the  Memoir es  of  the  Academy.  His  advice 
to  his  brother,  King  Joseph  of  Spain,  was :  *  I  have  only 
one  counsel  for  you — Be  master. ,'  " 

And,  again,  this  by  way  of  limitation  and  ex 
planation  of  much  that  has  been  said  before  : 

EARITT   OF   PURE    GREATNESS. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  find  greatness  pure.  Well,  I  please 
myself  with  its  diffusion — to  find  a  spark  of  true  fire 
amid  much  corruption.  It  is  some  guarantee,  I  hope,  for 
the  health  of  the  soul  which  has  this  generous  blood. 
How  many  men,  detested  in  contemporary  hostile  his- 


LETTERS  AND  SOCIAL  AIMS.  299 

tory,  of  whom,  now  that  the  mists  have  rolled  away,  we 
have  learned  to  correct  our  old  estimates,  and  to  see 
them  as  upon  the  whole  instruments  of  great  benefits." 

And  still  again,  by  way  of  further  comment 
upon  imperfect  greatness  : 

THE    GREATNESS    OF   MERE   FORCE. 

"  Meanwhile  we  hate  snivelling.    We  like  the  natural 
greatness  of  health  and  wild  power.     I  confess  that  I  am 
as  much  taken  by  it  in  boys,  and  sometimes  in  people 
not  normal,  nor  educated,  nor  presentable— even  in  per 
sons  open  to  the  suspicion  of  irregular  and  immoral 
living— as  in  more  orderly  examples.    Wo  must  have 
some  charity  for  the  sense  of  the  people  which  admires 
natural  power,  and  will  elect  it  over  virtuous  men  who 
have  less.     It  has  this  excuse,  that  natural  is  really  al 
lied  to  moral  power,  and  may  be  always  expected  to 
approach  it  by  its  own  instincts.    Intellect  at  least  is  not 
stupid  and  will  see  the  force  of  morals  over  men,  if  it 
does  not  itself  obey.    Henry  the  Seventh  of  England  was 
a  wise  king.     When  Gerald,  Earl  of  Kildare,  who  was 
in  rebellion  against  him,  was  brought  to  London,  and  ex 
amined  before  the  Privy  Council,  one  said :  'All  Ireland 
cannot  govern  this  earl.'     The  king  replied,   ' 
this  earl  govern  all  Ireland.' " 

And  again,  and  lastly,  by  way  of  summation 
of  the  whole  matter  of  greatness  : 

THE    ULTIMATE    GREATNESS. 

"Men  are  ennobled  by  morals  and  by  intellect;  but 
these  two  elements  know  each  other,  and  always  beckon 


300  EMERSON. 

to  each  other,  until  at  last  they  meet  in  the  man,  if  he 
is  to  be  truly  great.  The  man  who  sells  you  a  lamp 
shows  you  that  the  flame  of  oil,  which  contented  you 
before,  casts  a  strong  shade  in  the  path  of  the  petroleum 
which  he  lights  behind  it ;  and  this  again  casts  a  shad 
ow  in  the  path  of  the  electric  light.  So  does  intellect — 
when  brought  into  the  presence  of  character.  Charac 
ter  puts  out  that  light. 

"  We  are  thus  forced  to  express  our  instinct  of  the 
truth,  by  exposing  the  failure  of  experience.  The  man 
whom  we  have  not  seen,  in  whom  no  regard  of  self 
degraded  the  adorer  of  the  laws — who  by  governing  him 
self  governed  others ;  sportive  in  manner,  but  inexorable 
in  act;  who  sees  longevity  in  his  cause;  whose  aim  is 
always  distinct  to  him ;  who  carries  fate  in  his  eye — he 
it  is  whom  we  seek,  encouraged  in  every  good  hour  that 
here  or  hereafter  he  shall  be  found." 


XIV. 

THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   EMERSON. 

THE  philosophical  teachings  of  Emerson  nat 
urally  group  themselves  into  two  great  divisions  : 
First,  the  philosophy  of  the  Infinite — that  is,  of 
life  itself  and  the  absolute  laws  of  life,  or,  as  he 
sometimes  phrases  it,  of  existence ;  and  second, 
the  philosophy  of  the  Finite — that  is,  in  its  special 
relation  to  humanity  :  the  law  or  laws  of  the  con 
duct  of  life. 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  EMERSON.  301 

Of  this  second  division  we  may  admit  that 
his  views  are  sound  in  the  main,  notwithstanding 
that  they  are  often  expressed  in  terms  apparently 
contradictory  of  each  other.  This  seeming  con 
tradiction  is,  after  all,  more  apparent  than  real, 
arising  from  the  natural  tendency  in  his  mind  to 
present  the  one  aspect  of  things  which  was  upper 
most  in  his  thoughts  at  the  moment  in  the  strong 
est  light,  leaving  out  of  view  all  the  other  aspects 
which,  when  they  happen  to  present  themselves, 
or  to  be  called  up  by  him,  are  in  turn  no  less 
strongly  expressed. 

It  is  the  first  of  these  divisions  of  Emerson's 
philosophy  which  is  now  to  be  considered.  Put 
ting  what  we  regard  as  a  fair  statement  of  it  in 
concise  terms,  it  resolves  itself  into  three  proposi 
tions  :  (1.)  "  Mind  and  matter  are  totally  distinct 
phenomena  ;  and  mind  is  supreme  over  matter." 
(2.)  "There  is  only  one  Infinite  Mind  in  the 
universe,  which  includes  in  itself  all  finite  minds. " 
It  is  more  than  half  suggested  that  there  may 
be  a  like  unity  even  in  matter  ;  so  that  it  may 
ultimately  be  found  that  all  which  our  natural 
philosophy  regards  as  distinct  elements  are  only 
modifications  of  this  one  matter  ;  so  that  there 
may  be  no  real  difference  between  hydrogen,  oxy 
gen,  and  nitrogen ;  between  carbon,  gold,  and 
iron;  but  that  all  is  one,  and  one  is  all.  (3.) 
"  That  all  laws  are  the  product  and  emanation  of 
the  Infinite  Mind,  and  are  really  but  one  law  ; " 


302  EMERSON. 

so  that,  as  he  phrases  it,  "  The  law  of  gravita 
tion  is  identical  with  purity  of  thought." 

Passing  over  the  first  two  of  these  propositions, 
and  all  that  follows  from  them,  we  shall  here  con- 
sider  only  the  third,  which,  in  our  judgment,  in 
volves  such  a  lax  use  of  the  essential  word  "  Law" 
as  to  vitiate  the  entire  scheme. 

There  are  the  mathematical  laws,  which  are 
expressed  by  numbers,  forms,   and  dimensions, 
and  with  which  arithmetic  and  geometry  have  to 
do.     We  can  not  conceive  these  to  be  in  any  true 
sense  the  emanation  or  product  of   the  Infinite 
Mind.     We  can  not  imagine  that  they  could  be 
other  than  they  are  ;  or  that  the  Infinite  Mind 
could  conceive  them  to  be  otherwise.     For  exam 
ple  :  We  hold  that  the  Infinite  Mind  could  not 
conceive  of  any  number  which,  multiplied  into  it 
self,  would  produce  three  or  five,  or  any  other 
"surd  number"  ;  of  a  triangle,  any  two  sides  of 
which  should  not  be  greater  than  the  third,  or 
one  in  which  the  sum  of  the  three  angles  should 
be  either  more  or  less  than  two  right-angles ;  of 
any  right-angled  triangle,  in  which  the  sum  of 
the  squares  of  the  base  and  perpendicular  should 
not  be  equal  to  the  square  of  the  hypothenuse ; 
or  of  any  circle,  all  the  radii  of  which  should  not 
be  equal.     And  so  on  of  all  the  laws  of  trigonome 
try,  fluxions,  and  the  integral  calculus.     Some  of 
them  the  finite  mind  perceives  without  any  con 
scious  effort ;  some  of  them  it  perceives  only  by  la- 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  EMERSON.  303 

borious  effort ;  the  Infinite  Mind  perceives  them  at 
a  glance.  But,  perceived  or  unperceived,  they 
are,  always  will  be,  and  always  have  been  ;  and  so, 
from  their  very  nature,  must  be  eternal  and  iiicre- 
ate  ;  as  really  and  necessarily  as  the  Infinite  Mind 
is  infinite  and  increate. 

Then,  again,  there  are  the  moral  laivs,  those 
which  we  briefly  sum  up  as  the  law  of  "  right  and 
wrong."  These  we  hold  to  be  alike  eternal,  im 
mutable,  and  uncreated.  They  are  as  binding  upon 
the  Infinite  Majesty  of  the  Supreme  Being  as 
upon  each  and  every  sentient  being  capable  of 
perceiving  them.  They  bind  God  and  man,  be 
cause  he  and  they  can  perceive  them.  If  worm 
or  dog  can  perceive  them  at  all,  they  are  binding 
upon  it,  and  just  so  far  as  it  can  perceive  them. 
If,  without  irreverence,  we  may  conceive  that 
there  might  be  one  Supreme  Being,  who  should 
be  the  Ahriman  and  not  the  Ormuzd  of  some  East 
ern  theosophists — infinitely  malevolent  instead 
of  infinitely  benevolent — this  law  of  right  and 
wrong  would  yet  be  binding  upon  him,  and  in 
violating  it  he  would  be  an  Infinite  Malefactor. 
It  is  the  glory  of  our  faith,  as  it  is  the  glory  of 
all  faiths  worthy  to  be  so  called,  that  the  Supreme 
Being  is  bound— does  not  bind  himself— by  this 
law  of  right  and  wrong.  As  Emerson  has  said  : 
"There  is  no  god  dares  wrong  a  worm."  The 
law  of  right  and  wrong,  like  the  laws  of  mathe 
matics,  is  co-eternal  with  the  Divine  Being,  and, 


304  EMERSON. 

therefore,  like  him  is  uncreate.  It  has  this,  and 
this  only,  in  common  with  them,  that  neither 
can  be  conceived  of  as  being  other  than  it  is. 
Plato  has  styled  God  the  Infinite  Geometer ;  but 
arithmetic  and  geometry  have  in  themselves  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  moral  sense. 

Still,  again,  there  are  laws  of  a  quite  different 
class — those  which  we  generally  have  in  mind 
when  we  speak  of  the  "laws  of  nature  "  meaning 
those  by  which  we  find  that  physical  nature  is 
governed.  These  are,  in  truth,  merely  our  own 
generalizations  from  observed  facts.  The  essential 
distinctions  between  these  laws  of  nature  and  the 
mathematical  and  moral  laws  are  these  :  Those 
of  one  class  are  eternal  and  immutable,  having  no 
relations  to  time  and  space.  Those  of  this  other 
class  exist  in  time  and  space,  and,  for  aught  we 
can  see,  might  have  been  altogether  different  from 
what  they  are  ;  nay,  there  is  fair  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  they  have  been  different  from  what 
they  are,  and  may  hereafter  be  in  many  respects 
different  from  what  they  are  or  ever  have  been. 
Those  who  hold  to  the  doctrine  of  miracles,  as 
commonly  laid  down,  believe  that  some  of  these 
laws  have  from  time  to  time  been  set  aside,  not 
to  say  violated,  by  the  Supreme  Being.  Is  it  not 
a  law  of  nature  that  the  moon  is  in  constant  real 
motion  around  the  earth,  and  the  sun  in  constant 
apparent  motion  around  the  earth  ?  And  yet  did 
not  Joshua,  by  divine  command,  say,  "  Sun,  stand 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   EMERSON.  305 

thou  still  upon  Gibeon,  and  thou,  moon,  in  the 
Valley  of  Ajalon  "  ;  and  did  not  the  "  sun  stand 
still  in  the  midst  of  heaven,  and  hasted  not  to  go 
down  about  a  whole  day  "  ?  Was  not  life  restored 
to  the  dead  body,  even  when  far  advanced  in 
putrefaction  ? 

But  to  pursue  this  train  of  thought  in  a  direc 
tion  a  little  different.  There  is  no  reason  appar 
ent  to  the  intellect  why  very  many  of  these  ob 
served  laws  should  be  as  they  are ;  why,  for 
example,  all  matter  should  attract  all  other  mat 
ter  with  a  force  inversely  proportioned  to  the 
square  of  the  distance ;  indeed,  according  to 
some  cosmogonists,  there  was  a  period,  or  pe 
riods,  in  creation,  when  the  particles  of  matter 
repelled  instead  of  attracting  each  other ;  that  is, 
when  they  were  not  governed  by  the  law  of 
gravitation.  We  can  assign  no  special  reason  in 
the  nature  of  things  why  certain  gases  should 
combine  only  in  one,  two,  or  three  definite  pro 
portions,  while  other  gases  combine  in  any  or  all 
proportions ;  why  the  loadstone  should  magnet 
ically  attract  iron  and  not  copper,  while  the 
sandstone  thus  attracts  neither  ;  why  gold  should 
be  so  much  heavier  than  iron,  and  not  the  re 
verse  ;  why  one  metal  should  fuse  at  one  temper 
ature,  and  another  at  another. 

We  can  perceive  no  reason  why  the  orbit  of 
one  planet  should  have  one  degree  of  ellipticity, 
or  a  different  degree  of  inclination  to  the  ecliptic 
20 


306  EMERSON. 

from  that  of  another;  or  why  they  should  be 
ranged  in  space  as  they  are.  Kepler  indeed  dis 
covered  a  method  or  law  governing  this  arrange 
ment  as  it  is  ;  but,  for  aught  we  can  perceive,  any 
other  arrangement  would  have  been  just  as  well, 
or  there  need  not  necessarily  have  been  any  such 
law  at  all. 

So  far  as  we  can  now  perceive,  these  and  in 
numerable  other  laws  of  nature  are  arbitrary. 
We  by  no  means  affirm  that  they  are  so  in  reality. 
Ever  and  anon  we  learn  that  one  or  other  of  them 
is  productive  of  special  uses  for  us.  Thus,  if 
every  stone  were  magnetic,  the  great  human  use 
of  the  magnet  would  be  destroyed.  If  the  elec 
tric  current  could  not  be  conducted  through  cop 
per,  and  insulated,  as  by  gutta-percha  or  glass,  we 
could  have  no  electric  telegraph.  If  water  did 
not  become  an  elastic  gas  at  a  temperature  easily 
attainable  by  us,  we  could  have  no  steam-engine. 
If  the  general  law  in  virtue  of  which  bodies  ex 
pand  by  heat  were  not,  in  the  single  case  of  wa 
ter,  arrested  and  reversed  at  or  about  its  freezing- 
point,  the  whole  ocean  would  in  time  come  to  be 
a  mass  of  solid  ice. 

We  are  constantly  learning  new  laws  of  na 
ture — that  is,  discovering  new  facts  and  analo 
gies,  or  making  new  generalizations  of  them ; 
and  are  constantly  finding  new  uses  of  the  long- 
known  laws.  We  are  quite  ready  to  admit,  as  a 
matter  of  faith,  that,  could  our  mental  vision  take 


THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  EMERSON.  3Q7 

in  the  whole  of  the  mighty  code  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  with  all  its  relations  and  inter-relations, 
we  should  perceive  it  to  be  the  very  best  that 
infinite  benevolence  could  wish,  omniscience  con 
ceive,  or  omnipotence  execute  ;  and  that  the  de 
fects  which  we  think  we  perceive  in  it  spring 
from  our  ignorance,  not  from  our  wisdom,  and 
will  disappear  as  we  grow  wiser. 

But  the  dictum  of  Emerson,  that  all  laws  are 
only  One  Law,  does  not  help  us  a  single  step  to 
ward  such  a  conclusion.  The  theory  is  not  war 
ranted  by  the  facts  as  known  to  us,  or,  as  far  as 
we  can  understand  it,  knowable  by  us.  More,  to 
us  it  seems  a  mere  play  upon  words  ;  or,  rather, 
upon  the  word  "  Law."  To  say  that  the  law  of 
gravitation  is  identical  with  purity  of  heart,  is  to 
our  mind  as  inept  as  it  would  be  to  affirm  that  a 
mile  is  as  long  as  an  hour,  or  that  a  convincing 
argument  is  as  weighty  as  the  mass  of  the  globe. 

If  a  "Philosophy  of  the  Infinite"  is  to  be 
framed  by  man,  no  man  has  ever  framed  a  true 
one.  Plato  attempted  it,  and  Emerson  avers  that 
he  failed  in  the  attempt.  In  that  direction  he 
has  carried  us  no  further  than  Moses  had  done. 
Emerson  has  attempted  it ;  yet  we  do  not  see 
that  he  has  gone  a  step  further  than  Plato  had 
gone. 

Yet,  though  Emerson  has,  as  we  think,  failed 
to  do  what  he  proposed  to  himself  to  do,  we  by 
no  means  set  light  by  what  he  has  done.  He  has 


308  EMERSON. 

taught  us  many  lessons  of  virtue  and  of  wisdom. 
He  has  done  much  to  ennoble  our  thoughts,  to 
elevate  our  aspirations,  to  enliven  our  hopes.  No 
man  can  be  the  worse  for  reading  him  ;  few  men 
but  will  be  wiser  and  better  for  it.  Of  Carlyle 
we  have  said  elsewhere  :  "He  has  taught  us 
multa  sed  non  muUum — many  things,  but  not 
much."  Of  Emerson  we  may  say:  "He  has 
taught  us  multa  et  multum — many  things,  and 
much  " ;  and  of  these  many  things,  perhaps  not 
the  least  valuable  is  the  indirect  teaching  that  no 
man  has  ever  framed,  or  most  likely  will  ever 
frame,  a  "  Philosophy  of  the  Infinite  "  ;  and  that 
the  most  which  mortal  man,  or  all  mortal  men, 
can  do,  is  to  furnish  a  few  quite  finite  contribu 
tions  thereto. 


XV. 

EMERSON   AS   A   POET. 

THUS  far  Emerson  has  been  considered  mainly 
as  a  philosopher,  now  busying  himself — sometimes 
partly  losing  himself — in  the  loftiest  themes  of 
speculation  ;  and  now  turning  his  thoughts  upon 
the  familiar  topics  relating  to  man's  conduct  of 
life,  as  an  individual  and  a  member  of  society. 
The  citations  in  verse  have  been  made  in  order  to 
elucidate  some  aspects  of  his  philosophy  rather 


EMERSON  AS  A   POET. 

than  for  their  own  sake  as  poetry.  In  that  view 
also  should  be  regarded  the  little  poem  "Brah 
ma,"  which  in  many  minds  stands  as  the  repre 
sentative  of  Emerson's  verse  : 

BRAHMA. 

"  If  the  red  slayer  think  he  slays, 

Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 
They  know  not  well  the  winding  ways 
I  keep,  and  pass,  and  turn  again. 

"  Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near ; 

Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same ; 
The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear ; 
And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame. 

"  They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out ; 

"When  me  they  fly,  I  am  the  wings ; 
I  am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt, 
And  I  the  hymn  the  Brahmin  sings. 

"  The  strong  gods  pine  for  my  abode, 

And  pine  in  vain  the  sacred  seven ; 
But  thou,  meek  lover  of  the  good, 
Find  me,  and  turn  thy  back  on  heaven." 

When  this  poem  first  appeared  in  the  "Atlan 
tic  Monthly,"  it  was  the  occasion  of  much  shed 
ding  of  ink  on  the  part  of  the  criticasters  whose 
vocation  is  to  furnish  to  the  periodical  press  such 
wisdom  as  they  have  in  regard  to  literary  matters. 
To  most  of  them  it  was  utter  nonsense  ;  a  fit  ob 
ject  of  ridicule.  A  volume  might  be  made  up  of 


310  EMERSON. 

the  parodies  upon  it  which  appeared.  It  is,  in 
fact,  an  exposition  of  one  of  the  profoundest  of 
all  human  faiths — the  pure  Buddhist  theosophy, 
freed  from  later  increments  of  transmigration 
and  the  like.  Brdhma,  "the  Adorable"  and  in 
comprehensible,  represents  himself  as  the  All  in 
All ;  as  at  once  cause  and  effect — the  subject  and 
the  object  of  every  action — at  the  same  time  the 
doer  and  the  thing  done.  The  "strong  gods," 
who  appear  to  have  come  into  being,  and  who  are 
themselves  only  illusionary  apparitions  of  Brah 
ma,  are  by  a  bold  stretch  of  imagination  repre 
sented  as  pining  to  attain  the  knowledge  of  him  ; 
the  "sacred  seven,"  by  whom  we  understand  the 
seven  wise  men  of  antiquity,  as  representatives  of 
all  intellectual  wisdom,  also  pine  in  vain  for  the 
knowledge  which  is  reserved  only  for  the  "meek 
lovers  of  the  good " ;  and  this  knowledge  is  the 
Nirvana — the  complete  and  beatific  absorption  of 
all  individual  being  and  consciousness  into  the 
Infinite  Being  ;  and  this  involves  the  renunciation 
of  all  that  can  be  conceived  of  under  the  name  of 
"heaven."  This  idea,  more  or  less  developed, 
has  been  a  favorite  one  with  speculative  men  in 
all  ages.  We  find  it  almost  as  fully  expressed  by 
Boethius  in  that  poem  so  nobly  translated  by 
Samuel  Johnson,  which  finds  place  in  some  of 
our  hymn-books : 

"From  thee,  great  God,  we  sprung,  to  thee  we  tend: 
Path,  motive,  guide,  original,  and  end." 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  311 

We  have  styled  Emerson  "philosopher  and 
poet."  It  remains  to  consider  him  specially  in 
this  latter  capacity.  Mr.  Frothingham  has  said 
that  it  is  only  certain  defects  of  rhythm  and 
rhyme  which  prevent  him  from  being  the  great 
est  of  American  poets.  Emerson  makes  a  like 
remark  concerning  Plato.  However  just  this 
may  be  in  regard  to  Plato,  it  is  only  partially  just 
in  regard  to  Emerson.  That  very  many  of  his 
lines,  and  even  whole  poems,  have  defects  of 
rhyme  and  rhythm,  of  metre  and  melody,  must 
be  admitted.  But  in  most  cases  a  very  slight 
change  of  a  word  now  and  then,  or  the  addition 
of  a  line  here  and  there,  would  remove  the  defect. 
Yet  there  are  among  his  poems  many  which  in 
respect  to  mere  external  form  are  as  complete  and 
finished  as  any  of  those  of  Bryant  or  Longfellow 
or  Whittier. 

The  longer  pieces  belong  mainly  to  the  class 
of  descriptive  poetry,  which  is  often  little  more 
than  measured  or  rhymed  prose— always,  indeed, 
unless  it  be  interfused  with  spiritual  and  human 
analogies,  linking  the  material  to  the  immaterial 
thing,  and  shone  upon  by 

"  A  light  which  never  was  on  sea  or  land- 
Imagination  and  the  poet's  dream." 

"The  Adirondacks,"  in  unrhymed  decasylla- 
bles,  is  on  the  face  of  it  a  mere  narrative  of  a  visit 
to  that  wild  region  of  mountain  and  forest,  river 


312  EMERSON. 

and  lake.  Preserving  the  metrical  form,  yet 
omitting  a  few  touches,  and  the  residue  would  be 
merely  measured  prose,  none  the  better  for  being 
cut  up  into  measured  lines,  each  having  just  so 
many  syllables  and  beats.  Changing  a  word  here 
and  there,  or  the  order  of  the  words,  so  as  to  do 
away  with  the  metre,  and  the  result  would  still 
be  "prose  poetry."  Standing  as  it  is,  it  is  real 
poetry,  not  indeed  of  the  very  highest  class,  but 
very  high  in  its  class,  deserving  to  rank  with  the 
best  of  the  like  class  in  Wordsworth,  and  above 
anything  in  Thomson.  We  substantiate  this  by 
somewhat  extended  quotations  from  the  poem  : 

THE   ADIRONDAOK8. 

"  We  crossed  Champlain  to  Keesville  with  our  friends, 
There,  in  strong  country  carts,  rode  up  the  forks 
Of  the  Ausable  stream,  intent  to  reach 
The  Adirondack  lakes.     At  Martin's  beach 

"We  chose  our  boat ;  each  man  a  boat  and  guide 

Ten  men,  ten  guides,  our  company  all  told. 
Next  morn  we  swept  with  oars  the  Saranac, 
With  skies  of  benediction,  to  Eound  Lake, 
Where  all  the  sacred  mountains  drew  around  us, 
Tahawus,  Seaward,  Maclntyre,  Baldhead, 
And  other  Titans  without  muse  or  name. 

'  Pleased  with  these  grand  companions,  we  glide  on, 
Instead  of  flowers  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  hills, 
And  made  our  distance  wider,  boat  from  boat, 
As  each  would  hear  the  oracle  alone. 


EMERSON  AS   A  POET.  313 

By  the  bright  morn  the  gay  flotilla  slid 
Through  files  that  gleamed  like  bayonets, 
Through  goldmoth-haunted  beds  of  pickerel  flower, 
Through  scented  banks  of  lilies,  white  and  gold, 
"Where  the  deer  feed  at  night,  the  teal  by  day, 
On  through  the  Upper  Saranac,  and  up 
Pere  Raquette  stream  to  a  small  tortuous  pass. 
Winding  through  grassy  shadows  in  and  out, 
Two  creeping  miles  of  rushes,  pads,  and  sponge, 
To  Follansbee  Water  and  the  Lake  of  Loons. 
Northward  the  length  of  Follansbee  we  rowed, 
Under  low  mountains,  whose  unbroken  ridge 
Ponderous  with  beechen  forest  sloped  the  shore. 
A  pause  and  council :  then,  when  near  the  head 
On  the  east,  a  bay  makes  inward  to  the  land 
Between  two  rocky  arms,  we  climb  the  bank, 
And  in  the  twilight  of  the  forest  noon 
Wield  the  first  axe  these  echoes  ever  heard. 

"  The  wood  was  sovran  with  centennial  trees — 
Oak,  cedar,  maple,  poplar,  beech  and  fir, 
Linden  and  spruce.     In  strict  society 
Three  conifers,  white,  pitch,  and  Norway  pine, 
Five-leaved,  three-leaved,  and  two-leaved,  grew  there 
by. 

Our  patron  pine  was  fifteen  feet  in  girth, 
The  maple  eight,  beneath  its  shapely  tower. 
4  Welcome ! '    the   wood-god  murmured  through  the 

leaves — 

Welcome,  though  late,  unknowing,  yet  known  to  me. 
Evening  drew  on:  stars  peeped  through  maple-boughs, 
Which  o'erhung,  like  a  cloud,  our  camping-fire. 
Decayed  millennial  trunks,  like  moonlight  flecks, 
Lit  with  phosphoric  crumbs  the  forest-floor." 


814  EMERSON. 

In  "May-Day"  the  merely  descriptive  is  ad 
mirable,  but  it  is  almost  lost  in  the  imaginative. 
The  metrical  construction,  changing  at  frequent 
intervals,  is  almost  faultless,  and  in  perfect  har 
mony  with  the  change  of  thought : 

MAT-DAT. 

"  Daughter  of  heaven  and  earth,  coy  Spring, 
With  sudden  passion  languishing, 
Maketh  all  things  softly  smile, 
Painteth  pictures  mile  on  mile ; 
Holds  a  cup  with  cowslip  wreaths, 
Whence  a  smokeless  incense  breathes.  .  .  . 
The  air  is  full  of  whistlings  bland ; 

What  was  that  I  heard 
Out  of  the  hazy  land  ? 

Harp  of  the  wind,  or  song  of  bird, 
Or  clapping  of  the  shepherd's  hands, 

Or  vagrant  booming  of  the  air, 
Voice  of  a  meteor  lost  in  day? 

Such  tidings  of  the  starry  sphere 
Can  this  elastic  air  convey.  .  .  . 

"  April,  cold  with  dropping  rain, 
Willows  and  lilacs  brings  again, 
The  whistle  of  returning  birds 
And  the  trumpet-lowing  of  the  herds. 
The  scarlet  maple-keys  betray 
What  potent  blood  hath  modest  May ; 
What  fiery  force  the  earth  renews, 
The  wealth  of  forms,  the  flush  of  hues ; 
Joy,  shed  in  rosy  waves  abroad, 
Flows  from  the  heart  of  Love,  the  Lord.  .  .  . 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  315 

"  Hither  rolls  the  storm  of  Heat ; 

I  feel  its  finer  billows  beat 

Like  a  sea  which  me  infolds ; 

Heat,  with  viewless  fingers,  moulds, 

Swells  and  mellows,  and  matures, 

Paints  and  flavors,  and  allures ; 

Bird  and  brier  inly  warms, 

Still  enriches  and  transforms ; 

Gives  the  reed  and  lily  length, 

Adds  to  oak  and  oxen  strength ; 

Burns  the  world  in  tepid  lakes, 

Burns  the  world,  yet  burnt  remakes. 

Enveloping  Heat,  enchanted  robe, 

Makes  the  daisy  and  the  globe, 

Transforming  what  it  doth  infold— 

Life  out  of  death,  new  out  of  old  ; 

Painting  fawns'  and  leopards'  fells, 

Seethes  the  gulf-encrimsoning  shells; 

Fires  gardens  with  a  joyful  blaze 

Of  tulips  in  the  morning's  rays. 

The  dead  log  touched  bursts  into  leaf, 

The  wheat-blade  whispers  of  the  sheaf. 

What  god  is  this  imperial  Heat, 

Earth's  prime  secret,  sculpture's  seat? 

Doth  it  bear  hidden  in  its  heart 

Water-line  patterns  of  all  art? 

Is  it  Dsedalus  ?  is  it  Love  ? 

Or  walks  in  mask  almighty  Jove, 

And  drops  from  Power's  redundant  horn 

All  seeds  of  beauty  to  be  born  ?  .  .  . 

"Wreaths  for  the  May!  for  happy  Spring 
To-day  shall  all  her  dowry  bring— 


;16  EMERSON. 

The  love  of  kind,  the  joy,  the  grace, 
Hymen  of  element  and  race — 
Knowing  well  to  celebrate 
"With  song  and  hue,  and  star  and  state, 
With  tender  light  and  youthful  cheer, 
The  spotisals  of  the  new-born  year. 
Lo,  Love's  inundation  poured 
Over  space  and  race  abroad  !  .  .  . 

"For  thou,  O  Spring,  canst  renovate 
All  that  high  God  did  first  create. 
Be  still  his  arm  and  architect, 
Kebuild  the  ruin,  mend  defect ; 
Chemist  to  vamp  old  worlds  with  new, 
Coat  sea  and  sky  with  heavenlier  blue ; 
New  tint  the  plumage  of  the  birds, 
And  slough  decay  from  grazing  herds ; 
Sweep  ruins  from  the  scarped  mountain, 
Cleanse  the  torrent  at  the  fountain, 
Purge  Alpine  air  by  towns  defiled, 
Bring  to  fair  mother  fairer  child ; 
Not  less  renew  the  heart  and  brain, 
Scatter  the  sloth,  wash  out  the  stain ; 
Make  the  aged  eye  sun-clear, 
To  parting  soul  bring  grandeur  near. 

"  Under  gentle  types,  my  Spring 
Marks  the  might  of  Nature's  king ; 
An  energy  that  searches  thorough, 
From  chaos  to  the  dawning  morrow ; 
Into  all  our  human  plight — 
The  soul's  pilgrimage  and  flight. 
In  city  or  in  solitude, 
Step  by  step,  lifts  bad  to  good, 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  317 

Without  halting,  without  rest, 

Lifting  better  up  to  best ; 

Planting  seeds  of  knowledge  pure, 

Through  earth  to  ripen,  through  heaven  endure." 

In  the  "  Snow-storm  "  the  same  spiritual  pre 
dominance  is  manifested.  It  opens  with  a  few 
lines,  telling  how  the  snow  arrives,  "announced 
by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky,"  hiding  hills, 
woods,  rivers,  and  human  habitations,  wherein 
the  inmates  sit  around  the  radiant  fireplace,  "  in 
closed  in  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm."  Thence, 
in  the  keen,  bright  morning  air,  imagination  goes 
out  to  "  see  the  North-wind's  masonry  "  : 

THE   SNOW -STORM. 

"  Out  of  an  unseen  quarry,  evermore 
Furnished  with  file,  the  fierce  artificer 
Carves  his  white  bastions,  with  projected  roof, 
Kound  every  windward  stake  or  tree  or  door, 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work, 
So  fanciful,  so  savage.     Nought  cares  he 
For  numbers  or  proportion.     Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths ; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn ; 
Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and  at  the  gate 
A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 
And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 
Is  all  his  own,  retiring  as  he  were  not, 
Leaves,  when  the  Sun  appears,  astonished  Art, 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 
Built  in  an  age,  the  wind's  night- work, 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow." 


318  EMERSON. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  the  charm  of  this  de~ 
scription  is  owing  mainly  not  to  the  mere  descrip 
tion  of  the  snow-masonry,  but  to  the  investing  of 
the  viewless  architect  with  thought,  purpose,  and 
will,  making  the  unseen  north-wind  a  type  of  that 
invisible  spirit,  who  works  in  matter  and  mind, 
and  is  only  known  through  his  works.  "The 
Ehodora  "  lines,  written  on  being  asked,  "  Whence 
is  the  Ehodora  ?  "  have  deservedly  found  a  place 
among  our  household  poems. 

Among  what  may  be  styled  "Poems  of  the 
Affections,"  rather  than  "Poems  of  Love,"  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  find  one  more  delicate  in 
thought,  or  more  delicately  expressed,  than  this  : 

TO   EVA. 

"  O  fair  and  stately  maid,  whose  eyes 
Were  kindled  in  the  upper  skies, 

At  the  same  torch  that  lighted  mine ; 
For  so  I  must  interpret  still 
Thy  sweet  dominion  o'er  my  will — 

A  sympathy  divine. 

"  Ah !  let  me  blameless  gaze  upon 
Features  that  seem  at  heart  my  own ; 

Nor  fear  those  watchful  sentinels, 
Who  charm  the  more  their  glance  forbids, 
Chaste-glowing  underneath  their  lids 

With  fire  that  draws  while  it  repels." 

Pitched  to  a  higher  key,  and  far  more  deeply 
touching  the  deepest  chords  of  the  human  heart,  is 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  319 

the  long  "Threnody/'  a  lament  for  one  of  those 
"whom  the  gods  love/'  who  died  young.  We 
give  only  a  small  part  of  this  : 

THRENODY. 

"  The  South-wind  brings 

Life,  sunshine,  and  desire, 
And  on  every  mount  and  meadow 

Breathes  aromatic  fire : 
But  over  the  dead  he  has  no  power; 
The  lost,  the  lost,  he  cannot  restore ; 
And,  looking  over  the  hills,  I  mourn 
The  darling  who  shall  not  return. 

"  I  see  my  empty  house ; 
I  see  my  trees  repair  their  boughs ; 
And  he,  the  wondrous  child, 
Whose  silver  warble  wild 
Outvalued  every  passing  sound 
Within  the  air's  cerulean  round — 
The  hyacinthine  boy,  for  whom 
Morn  might  break  and  April  bloom— 
The  gracious  boy,  who  did  adorn 
The  world  whereinto  he  was  born, 
And  by  his  countenance  repay 
The  favor  of  the  loving  Day — 
Has  disappeared  from  the  Day's  eye ; 
Far  and  wide  she  cannot  find  him ; 
My  hopes  pursue,  they  cannot  bind  him. 
Keturned  this  day,  the  South- wind  searches, 
And  finds  young  pines  and  budding  birches, 
But  finds  not  the  budding  man. 


320  EMERSON. 

Nature,  who  lost  him,  cannot  remake  him ; 
Fate  let  him  fall,  Fate  can't  retake  him ; 
Nature,  Fate,  men,  him  seek  in  vain. 

"  O  child  of  Paradise ! 
Boy  who  made  dear  his  father's  home, 

In  whose  deep  eyes 

Men  read  the  welfare  of  the  times  to  come  1 
I  am  too  much  hereft. 
The  world  dishonored  thou  hast  left. 
Oh,  Truth's  and  Nature's  costly  lie ! 
Oh,  richest  fortune  sourly  crossed! 
Born  for  the  future,  to  the  future  lost  I  " 

Thus  far,  and  through  many  more  stanzas, 
the  "Threnody"  breathes  the  mournful  tone  of 
the  Greek  Moschus,  who,  in  his  elegy  upon  Bion, 
the  idyllic  poet,  after  lamenting  over  all  the  once 
green  herbs  now  lying  withered  in  autumn,  bursts 
out : 

"  These  live  again  at  last,  and  in  another  year 
Spring  forth.     But  we,  the  great,  the  mighty,  and  the 

wise 

Of  men,  when  once  we  die,  unhearing  in  the  ground, 
We  sleep  the  long,  unending,  unawakening  sleep." 

All  this  is  touching,  and  true  so  far  as  the 
common  conception  of  the  Greeks  went ;  for,  ac 
cording  to  this,  death  was  an  unawakening  sleep 
to  all  save  a  few  of  the  human  race.  In  Elysium 
there  was  no  place  except  for  the  greatly  good ; 
in  Tartarus,  for  none  except  the  greatly  bad  ;  none 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  321 

in  either  for  the  child  early  cut  off.  But  in  the 
close  of  the  "Threnody"  Emerson  rises  to  a 
loftier  vision— a  vision  springing  from  the  uni 
versal  harmonies  of  Nature.  To  his  mournful 
plaint — 

"The  deep  Heart  answered:  Weepest  thou? 
Worthier  cause  for  passion  wild 
If  I  had  not  taken  the  child. 
And  deemest  thou  as  those  who  pore, 
With  aged  eyes,  short  way  before— 
Think'st  Beauty  vanished  from  the  coast 
Of  matter,  and  thy  darling  lost  ?— 
Taught  he  not  thee— the  man  of  eld, 
Whose  eyes  within  his  eyes  beheld 
Heaven's  numerous  hierarchy  span 
The  mystic  gulf  from  God  to  man? 
To  be  alone,  wilt  thou  begin, 
When  worlds  of  lovers  hem  thee  in?— 
To-morrow,  when  the  masks  shall  fall, 
That  dizzen  Nature's  carnival, 
The  pure  shall  see  by  their  own  will, 
Which  overflowing  Love  shall  fill, 
'Tis  not  within  the  force  of  Fate, 
The  Fate-conjoined  to  separate.  .  .  . 

"  Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 
What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show  ? 
Verdict  which  accumulates 
From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates  ; 
Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned ; 
Prayers  of  saints  that  only  burned- 
Saying  :    What  is  excellent, 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent ; 
21 


322  EMERSON. 

Hearts  are  dust,  hearts*  loves  remain; 
Heart"1  s  loves  will  meet  with  thee  again. 
Silent  rushes  the  swift  Lord 
Through  ruined  systems  still  restored; 
Broad-sowing,  bleak  and  void  to  bless, 
Plants  with  worlds  the  wilderness ; 
Waters  with  tears  of  ancient  sorrow 
Apples  of  Eden,  ripe  to-morrow. 
House  and  tenant  go  to  ground, 
Lost  in  God,  in  Godhead  found." 

In  poetry,  as  well  as  in  prose,  Emerson's  range 
of  themes  is  not  a  very  wide  one.  Only  rarely 
has  he  written  anything  inspired  by  the  current 
events  of  the  day.  Of  the  few  poems  of  this  sort 
which  he  has  written,  it  can  only  be  said  that 
they  are  about  as  good  as  the  mass  of  those  of  the 
sort.  The  best  of  these  is  the  hymn  for  the  cele 
bration  of  the  inauguration  of  the  Concord  Monu 
ment,  April  19,  1836,  the  last  two  lines  of  the 
first  stanza  of  which  have  a  clear  and  sharp  ring  : 

THE    CONCORD    HYMN. 

"By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 

Their  flag  to  April  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmer  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

"The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept; 
Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 
Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET. 

u  On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 
When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

u  Spirit  that  made  these  heroes  dare 

To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 
Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee." 

Mere  humor  rarely  has  place  in  the  poems  of 
Emerson;  but  the  following  "fable"  is  worthy 
of  ^Esop  or  La  Fontaine  : 

THE   MOUNTAIN   AND   THE    SQUIRREL. 

"  The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel : 
And  the  former  called  the  latter '  Little  Prig.' 

Bun  replied : 
You  are  doubtless  very  big ; 

But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together 
To  make  up  a  year 
And  a  sphere, 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 

To  occupy  i-ny  place. 
If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry. 
I'll  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel  track ; 
Talents  differ ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put; 

If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 


324  EMERSON. 

There  are  a  number  of  quatrains  which  are 
real  epigrams,  such  as  these  : 


BOEROWING    TROUBLE. 


"Some  of  your  hurts  you  have  cured, 

And  the  sharpest  you  have  still  survived ; 
But  what  torments  of  grief  you  endured 
From  evils  which  never  arrived !  " 


HOEOSOOPE. 

"Ere  he  was  born,  the  stars  of  fate 
Plotted  to  make  him  rich  and  great; 
When  from  the  womb  the  babe  was  loosed, 
The  gates  of  gifts  behind  him  closed." 

YESTEEDAY,  TO-MOEEOW,  TO-DAY. 

"  Shines  the  last  age,  the  next  with  hope  is  seen, 
To-day  slinks  poorly  off,  unmarked  between  : 
Future  or  Past,  no  richer  secret  folds, 
O  friendless  Present !  than  thy  bosom  holds." 

SACRIFICE. 

"  Though  love  repine  and  reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply: 
'Tis  man's  perdition  to  be  safe, 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die." 

The  general  idea  of  the  irreversible  past,  so 
often  expressed,  has  never  been  more  characteris 
tically  set  forth  than  in  the  following  poem  : 


EMERSON   AS  A  POET.  325 

THE   PAST. 

"  The  debt  is  paid, 
The  verdict  said, 
The  Furies  laid, 
The  plague  is  stayed, 
All  fortunes  made. 
Turn  the  key  and  bolt  the  door, 
Sweet  is  death  forevermore. 
Nor  haughty  Hope,  nor  swart  Chagrin, 
Nor  murdering  Hate  can  enter  in. 
All  is  now  secure  and  fast ; 
Not  the  gods  can  shake  the  Past ; 
Flies-to  the  adamantine  door, 
Bolted  down  forevermore. 
None  can  reenter  there. 
No  thief  so  politic, 
No  Satan  with  his  royal  trick, 

Steal  in  by  window,  chink,  or  hole, 
To  bind  or  unbind,  add  what  lacked, 

Insert  a  leaf  or  forge  a  name, 
New-face  or  finish  what  is  packed, 
Alter  or  mend  eternal  Fact." 

In  the  "Song  of  Nature,"  poetry  and  the 
Emersonian  philosophy  are  blended.  Only  about 
half  of  the  stanzas  are  here  cited  : 

THE    SONCr    OF    NATURE. 

"  Mine  are  the  night  and  morning, 

The  pits  of  air,  the  gulf  of  space, 
The  sportive  sun,  the  gibbous  moon, 
The  innumerable  days. 


326  EMERSON. 

"  I  wrote  the  past  in  characters 
Of  rock  and  fire  the  scroll — 
The  building  in  the  coral  sea, 
The  planting  of  the  coal. 

"Time  and  Thought  were  ray  surveyors ; 

They  laid  their  courses  well ; 
They  boiled  the  sea  and  baked  the  layers 
Of  granite,  marl,  and  shell. 

"  But  he,  the  Man-child  glorious — 

Where  tarries  he  the  while  ? 

The  rainbow  shines  his  harbinger, 

The  sunset  gleams  his  smile. 

"  I  travail  in  pain  for  him, 

My  creatures  travail  and  wait ; 
His  couriers  come  by  squadrons, 
He  comes  not  to  the  gate. 

"  Twice  have  I  moulded  an  image, 

And  thrice  outstretched  my  hand : 
Made  one  of  clay,  and  one  of  night, 
And  one  of  the  salt  sea-sand. 

"  One  in  a  Judsean  manger,  • 
And  one  by  Avon  stream, 
One  over  against  the  mouths  of  Nile, 
And  one  in  Academe. 

"  I  moulded  kings  and  saviours, 

And  bards  o'er  kings  to  rule  : 
But  fell  the  starry  influence  short, 
The  cup  was  never  full. 


EMERSON  AS  A  POET.  327 

"  Yet  whirl  the  glowing  wheels  once  more, 

And  mix  the  bowl  again ; 
Seethe,  Fate  !  the  ancient  elements, 
Heat,  cold,  wet,  dry,  and  peace,  and  pain. 

"  Let  war  and  trade  and  creeds  and  song 

Blend,  ripen  race  on  race — 
The  sunburnt  world  a  man  shall  breed 
Of  all  the  zones,  and  countless  days." 

Here  we  conclude  what  we  had  to  say  by  way 
of  setting  forth  and  elucidating  Emerson's  right 
to  be  ranked  among  the  true  poets  of  this  coun 
try  and  of  all  countries,  of  this  age  and  of  many 
ages  to  come.  "We  think  it  indisputable.  Most 
likely  his  audience  at  any  one  time  will  be  com 
paratively  small.  In  a  single  half -generation  the 
platitudes  of  a  Tupper  found  more  admirers  than 
Emerson  will  have  found  for  ages.  But  be  his 
auditors  many  or  few,  they  will  surely  be  "  fit." 
If  voters  were  to  be  weighed,  not  counted,  his 
would  be  a  heavy  vote.  And,  in  the  long  result, 
it  will  be  weight,  not  numbers,  which  will  decide 
the  final  issue. 


THE     END. 


30   r,          14  DAY  USE 

"RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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